A Voyage Unforeseen
by Love-the-Boots
Summary: The story we all know and love, told through Nat Eaton's eyes. FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is a collaborative effort between two friends who have loved the book _The Witch of Blackbird Pond_ since middle school. As seen in the summary, we have not made any changes to the original plot, but are instead telling the story through Nat's perspective. Because we've been wondering that. Enjoy.**

* * *

"A fine company we have this trip," Caleb said, grinning wickedly at his friend as the young woman came again out onto the deck. She never seemed to want to stay below for very long, even though today had brought a stronger wind.

Nat Eaton glanced toward the young lady before returning to the rope he was untangling. "I suppose we haven't had such wealthy passengers aboard this ship in quite a while." There was a note of disdain in the way he spoke, and Caleb raised his eyebrows.

"I'm surprised you haven't paid her more mind. We've sailed for three weeks and you have hardly given her a look. I say, Nat, has the deprivation made you completely unconscious to women? I remember your head turning once or twice the last time we went inland at Boston!"

Nat had to laugh at Caleb's teasing. Truth be told, he _had _noticed the young lady aboard the ship, every day in a different dress. She withdrew from the others and was nearly silent at mealtimes. Out on deck, she was constantly looking out at the expanse of water—always in the wrong direction, if it was shore she was hoping to see. Clearly, she thought herself so much above the others around her, and Nat, being the captain's son, had taken silent offense at her arrogance.

Nat looked at her again and shrugged. "She's not extraordinarily pretty, mate—it's all in that ridiculous dress. Serve her right if she tripped over all that finery."

"If you ask me," Caleb said, "she's fine enough, being the only lady aboard besides your own mother." He laughed.

Nat gave the rope's knot a stronger tug than might have been necessary before turning back to Caleb, folding his arms. "If you think she's such a wonder, perhaps you'd care to say 'how do you do' to her when you have a spare moment."

It was Caleb who laughed this time, shaking his head in good-natured disagreement. "Considering she hardly speaks, even to Mistress Eaton, I'll be hanged if she'd find a common seaman worth her time." He grinned again. "The captain's son might be a different matter."

"I have better things to do," Nat said, stepping further away from both his friend and the young lady. It was in vain, for Caleb followed him until Nat stopped again, exasperated.

"There's not a man alive who has something better to do than talk with a pretty girl." Caleb held up his hand as Nat was about to speak in protest. "Don't bother to argue. I've seen you look at her a time or two when she comes out from the hold, so I know that your low opinion of her is all talk."

"Not exactly," Nat said, casting her a sidelong glance. "Haven't you noticed? She's quite proud of herself, I'd wager. She brought _seven _trunks aboard. Where in heaven's name does she expect to put them all in Connecticut Colony? Who does she think she is?"

"The daughter of King James himself, it seems like," Caleb said, his expression more sober this time.

"Indeed." Nat frowned thoughtfully. "I must confess, I feel a bit sorry for her. I've been to Barbados enough times to know it's an entire world away from Connecticut. Perhaps she doesn't know that. She might not know what she's doing."

"I've noticed she's got her sea legs, and a stomach for the waves, to boot. But she might not know what awaits her once she disembarks. Women can be a bit senseless with such things sometimes."

Nat laughed. "Perhaps I'd better give her a fair warning."

"If I see your father, I'll make an excuse for you." Chuckling again, Caleb nodded to his fellow sailor and went below to see to other duties.

With a shrug, Nat tossed aside the rope he had been untangling and moved toward the young lady. She was continually tucking her hair behind her ears, but it was useless on a day like today. Nat was ready to have another laugh at her expense, but when she noticed his approach and looked his way, he felt another twinge of sympathy instead. She did not look proud at all; she looked frustrated and worried.

"A fine breeze we have today," he said, resting his folded arms on the edge. "We should be seeing the shoreline before a fortnight is over."

"Then we're more than halfway there," she said. "I'm glad of it." After an awkward pause, she offered, "My name is Katherine Tyler."

"Nathaniel Eaton."

"The captain's son, I gather."

"Indeed," he said, his own pride obvious in his smile and the sparkle in his eyes. "Best man on the seas."

She smiled, and they fell silent again. Once more, it was she who offered the next words in the conversation. "Strange…This is the first time I have introduced myself to someone without him asking if I am Sir Francis Tyler's daughter."

Nat had heard the name before, but it held little weight with him. "Are you?"

"His granddaughter. Finest man in Barbados, God rest his soul." Still smiling, she looked at him expectantly, as though he was supposed to be impressed with this knowledge. It was quite the opposite. Nat found himself once again a bit irked by her superior attitude. Perhaps it was expected of her in Barbados, but he did not think much of it on the _Dolphin_, and he knew it would not be well accepted in Connecticut—especially from a newcomer. The desire to warn her of the differences between the place she had left and the place at which she would arrive had quickly dissolved. Let her find out on her own, then.

"I'm glad to know we are sailing with such illustrious company," he said wryly, bowing a little before he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Nat grabbed one last bundle to take ashore to Saybrook, but almost dropped it when he felt an elbow jarring his ribs. He was about to take a swing at the red-headed sailor who had so rudely caught his attention, but saw that he was pointing at the group climbing down into the longboat.

"It seems your little friend is leaving." Gabriel pointed at the young Mistress Tyler, who was following Nat's mother.

"She was going to Wethersfield," Nat said. "Here." He handed the bundle to Gabriel, adding, "I'll be along directly."

"Maybe she's just going to see the shore," Gabriel said as he walked away.

From what Nat heard the young lady saying to Mistress Eaton, that was just what she was doing. The captain looked none too pleased to have her taking up precious room in the boat, but his wife chatted with the girl, calling her "Kit" as though they were old friends and assuring her that they would meet again. The assurance seemed unnecessary; Kit was brimming over with an excitement she had never shown on the ship. Nat wondered if she would find Connecticut so invigorating once she had actually set foot upon it. It was home to him well enough, and he welcomed the sight of it—but _he_ had not been born on a Barbados plantation.

Nat and the other men helped to unload the limited amount of cargo and distribute it among the small crowd gathering at the shore. All the while, Nat kept one eye on Kit, who stood in one place and looked around, her enthusiasm already substantially diminished. When she took one misstep forward, he recognized the signs and rushed over to her side.

He couldn't keep from laughing as she almost toppled over, dizzy from too many weeks at sea, no longer used to steady land. She thanked him, and he let go, still smiling. His mother fretted over Kit for a few more moments before finally bidding her goodbye, and Nat followed his parents back to their Saybrook house. Though they did not pass many people on the way, each one they met raised a hand in greeting and inquired after their journey. The captain stopped to speak to almost all of them, and Nat managed to hold in his impatient sighs, eager to be back on the ship.

When they stepped into the small house, he set down his mother's trunk and inhaled deeply. Even though he would rather be on the _Dolphin_, he relished the smell of this house. The indoor air was a little stale from months of emptiness, but it still held the familiar tang of wood, herbs, and sand that he always associated with home.

"I'm afraid we haven't time for a visit with your mother," Captain Eaton said to his wife, hoisting up the trunk to his shoulder and carrying it the rest of the way upstairs.

"She'll be sorry she missed you." Mistress Eaton turned to Nat. "I will go see her as soon as you leave, and let her know we've returned. I daresay she did not feel much like going to the harbor today, if she even knew the ship had come in. Take care, Nat," she said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I will see you when you come back down the river."

"The wind is brisk," Nat said, "and we'll make good time—unless we're becalmed, as always."

"I hope not," Mistress Eaton sighed. "Nat, would you do me one thing? Would you look out for Kit? I cannot help but worry about her. She seems so worldly sometimes, and then so innocent and careless. I hardly think she understands where she is. Connecticut is so far from Barbados, and I do not only mean those five weeks at sea."

"She'll learn that difference quickly enough, I'm sure," Nat said, disguising the fact that he had been thinking along the very same lines.

"I pray that she does. But Nat, do this for me, won't you? See that she reaches her aunt's house safely in Wethersfield. I couldn't bear it if something happened to her. I've asked the woman coming aboard to look out for her, but she has her own husband and child to mind. I would feel so much better if I knew you were watching out for her, as well."

"Be at peace, Mother," Nat said, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. "Nothing will happen to her. For your sake, I will see to it myself."

That appeared to both satisfy and calm her, and Mistress Eaton smiled. "Thank you, Nat," she said, placing one hand over his. "Now, let me fetch your father so you can be on your way. Be careful, and I shall see you in a few weeks."

"Goodbye, Mother," Nat said.

He and his father said nothing on their way back to the boat, except to the few people trickling back from the wharf, newfound bundles in hand. Suddenly, Nat was not as eager to go back to the ship. There was one small thing left to do before he could return.

"Father, go on ahead," he said.

"We haven't much time," Captain Eaton said, frowning, never slowing his pace. "We must be heading up the river soon."

"I won't be five minutes!" Nat turned around and ran back the way they had just come. He raced past his family's house to a smaller, slightly more untidy residence. Breathless, he knocked loudly on the door and waited less-than-patiently. When it opened a bit, part of a wizened face and two soft brown eyes peered out at him.

"Nathaniel!" Constance Ford cried out in delight and opened her arms to embrace her grandson. "'Tis so good to see you—now the winter really _is_ over!"

Nat laughed and hugged the old woman, noticing that she was a little thinner than last time. "I cannot stay long. We're about to set off again, up the river, but I had to come and see you before leaving again."

"I see God has kept you well. Look how brown you've gotten," she said, her thin, pale hand reaching up to brush his tanned cheek. "Is the sun really so strong in those islands?"

"Indeed," he said, "and a good thing, too!" He took her hand and said, "Now I really must go, but Mother said she will come and see you soon. She has things to bring you."

"Praise the Lord you've returned safely," Constance said. "I look forward to seeing my daughter. Now go, or your father will get impatient and leave you behind, and you'll be sulking for weeks!"

Amused, Nat said goodbye to his grandmother and ran back to the shore, kicking up mud and startling a few more passersby. He reached the longboat just in time to unhook the rope and jump inside, causing a few of his shipmates to chuckle and roll their eyes good-naturedly. He knew they thought he was visiting a sweetheart whose identity he refused to disclose. Too amused at the lunacy of the idea, he never corrected them. At the same time, he tried to ignore the jokes Gabriel tried to make at his expense. Instead, he glanced momentarily at each of the new passengers—and Kit—before focusing his gaze to the _Dolphin_.

Scarcely a few minutes had passed before the little girl in the boat began to cry. Nat flinched in surprise as Kit clambered past him, demanding that the captain turn the boat around. If he hadn't been so taken aback, Nat would have snorted in laughter at the idea of this superior young woman trying to divert the captain from their intended course. He had no time to laugh, however, before Kit threw off her cloak and shoes and jumped into the water.

"What the devil does she think she's doing!" Captain Eaton exclaimed. Gesturing hurriedly, he shouted orders for his men to turn the boat.

Nat wondered the same thing, but didn't bother to voice it before diving headfirst into the water, steeling himself against the ocean's frigid temperature. It took him just an instant to get his bearings before he swam toward Kit, who had splashed her way farther from the boat.

_Damn her, _he thought. _What lady in her right mind would do something so dangerous and utterly stupid?_

He stopped swimming when he came face-to-face with her—and she laughed! Sputtering, he could do nothing but tread water and stare in disbelief as she took strong, even strokes back to the skiff, one hand clutching the little girl's doll. She looked back at him, still grinning, and he then realized she was _racing _him. There was barely a moment to be impressed before realizing he had soaked himself for nothing. Shaking the water out of his ears, he struck out furiously after her. When he reached the boat, the other passengers had already pulled her aboard and she had returned the toy to its rightful owner. She was still laughing at him, even as she shivered in the wind, which had picked up a little.

"What was all that fuss about?" she asked Nat when he sat down beside her. The both of them created pools of water on the boat's floor that seeped into the others' shoes. She looked as though she was almost _enjoying _this.

"I had rather thought you needed my assistance," Nat grumbled. "_Most_ girls I've met don't know how to swim."

"Well, I feel sorry for them, then! I've been swimming my whole life. Grandfather taught me himself."

"How kind of him."

Goodwife Cruff scolded Kit for spoiling her clothes, but Kit shrugged it off. She had several trunks aboard the _Dolphin_.

"I'm afraid there are othersless fortunate," Nat said, indicating his sodden shirt and breeches. "You might have considered _that_."

"You didn't have to come after me," Kit said, obviously offended

"Well, now I know better. Next time you throw yourself overboard, I will leave you to your own devices."

They spent the rest of the way back to the ship in furious silence. Why _had _he gone after her? He might have been glad to be rid of the nuisance, and she might have been able to splash her way back to shore, even if she hadn't been able to actually swim. But the idea of being glad to see her drown filled him with shame. Indeed, he was strangely disappointed at the idea of leaving her in Connecticut and never seeing her again. He managed to push those feelings aside and ignore them, and tried to do just the same with Kit herself.


	3. Chapter 3

His face was reddening to his scalp and the heat almost choked him as he stormed away. How _dare _she! How _dare _that spoiled brat insult his father's ship—_his _ship! All sympathy he'd felt for the orphaned young woman dissolved like the morning mist, burned away by his fury. Raised on a plantation, of course, all her life ignorant of the suffering her years of idle pleasure had heaped upon others. Why had he even bothered trying to talk to her? He should have known, from the moment they set sail from Barbados, that there was no common ground between them—except the deck of the _Dolphin_, which she had just slighted.

So absorbed in her insulting remarks, he almost collided with his own father.

"Something wrong, Nat?" Captain Eaton asked.

"No, sir," Nat answered, regaining his bearings.

"I suggest you avoid distractions as best you can. There may seem to be time for idleness with the wind as dead as it has been, but when it picks up, we must be ready. I've told the crew to prepare for walking up the river, and I need you to keep your wits about you and see it done."

Nat held back a sigh of frustration, this time at himself. Of course his father had seen him talking to Kit. Surely the captain's son had better things to do on the merchant vessel than stand around and talk to the passengers. What had he been thinking? Nothing of importance, that much was certain!

"Aye-aye, sir," Nat said. "I shall return to my duties immediately."

Captain Eaton nodded and moved on to speak to Goodman Cruff. Nat took the opportunity to glance back at Kit again. She was standing right where he had left her, only this time it seemed she held her head a bit lower, and her proud shoulders sagged. Conveniently forgetting the promise he had made to his mother to watch out for Kit, he rejoiced at the sight of her dejection. Hopefully she had learned a bit of humility then, and next time would think twice before again making light of the indignity of slavery—or the _Dolphin_'s cleanliness.

All the same, a trickle of pity forced its way back into Nat. He was _home _here, on this ship, with nothing but water in every direction. He was with his father and their crew—his friends. She was alone in the world, save for a few family members in Connecticut she hadn't even met. He knew she had no idea what kind of life awaited her there; perhaps he had been too harsh. As soon as he realized where his thoughts had drifted, Nat locked his mind against them and moved away to keep himself occupied.

Seeing that the crew had lowered one of the boats into the water with an anchor, he cursed himself for his incompetence. His ill humor worsened, combined with frustration that he had not noticed the men assembling before. He should have been organizing this process, not allowing his mind to wander. Better had Kit stayed in Barbados! Stripping off his dirty linen shirt and tossing it aside, he joined the group of bare-chested sailors holding the rope connected to the anchor, by which they would pull the ship up the river. It was sluggish, grueling work, but it would keep the ship moving, if only slightly. Unconsciously, he looked back once more at where Kit was standing. Seeing that she was keeping her eyes modestly averted, he could not hold back a grin.

Ten of them, including Nat, marched along the rope, pulling as far as they could before dropping back like the lead goose in a migrating flock. The sun beat down upon them, far too hot for April, while the air remained merciless and unmoving. Over an hour later, they had pulled the ship to meet the anchor, and the boat carried it further out, repeating the process. The group tried to keep up the pace until the sun had dropped low in the sky, and the air grew chilly again. Captain Eaton ordered them to desist and rest up for what might be another day of the same agonizing procedure.

When the boat, anchor, and other sailors had been pulled aboard the _Dolphin_, Nat collapsed onto the deck with the rest of the crew—exhausted and drenched with perspiration, their hands raw from continuously grasping the ropes. One of the sailors began a rowdy song to keep up their spirits. Laughing as much as their weary lungs would allow, they all joined in. Nat grinned and sang with the rest; though he was worn out, his spirits had improved enough that he almost could have danced a jig right there on deck.

Glancing at the two passengers standing nearby, he lifted his voice slightly, so it would carry farther. John Holbrook and Kit must have been trying the evening's low temperature before going into the stuffy lower deck for the night; surely they had eaten supper by now. He noticed with satisfaction that embarrassment at the sailors' boisterousness had colored both Kit and John's faces. Ha!—now it was time for _her _to feel ill-at-ease, after a life of pampered luxury on Barbados and a shameless exhibition in Saybrook. He allowed for no pity, or so he told himself.

An unwelcome thought reminded Nat that Kit would experience enough of that feeling of mortification once she set foot in Wethersfield. He ignored the idea and kept singing until the captain stormed on deck.

"_What is going on here?_" his voice thundered above the bawdy lyrics, his blue eyes flashing and furious. "Have you nothing else to occupy yourselves? For heaven's sake, men, the passengers below can hear you! We'll have no more of this ruckus—in front of a clergyman and a lady, no less. Go down to get your supper, return to your duties, and _be silent!_"

Before storming off again, he stopped and pointed a trembling finger at his son. "You, of all people, Nathaniel Eaton, ought to behave better. You are to keep order in my stead, and here I find you on the ground and bellowing like a drunken fool."

Stricken, Nat watched his father leave and return to the ship's lower decks. The other men, chastised but still lively, murmured among themselves. When Captain Eaton's footsteps were out of earshot, Nat peeked toward the two passengers standing at the rail. Unaware that it was now his own skin flushed with shame, he observed John Holbrook and Kit chatting away as though nothing had happened. Her smile had a telling slant to it, however, and when she shifted her gaze in his direction, Nat knew she was smirking at him. He got to his feet and retrieved his discarded shirt, scowling and trying to remember what else had to be done on the ship this evening. He certainly did not want to think about supper _now_.

Jedidiah, one of the oldest crew members, who spoke little unless it was absolutely imperative, began another song—a ballad this time, with quiet, sweeter lyrics.

_The bee shall honey taste no more,  
The dove become a ranger,  
The falling waters cease to roar,  
Ere I shall seek to change her.  
The vows we made to heav'n above  
Shall ever cheer and bind me  
In constancy to her I love,  
the girl I left behind me._

"Enough!" Nat snapped. "The captain wanted silence!"

"Aye-aye, sir," Jedidiah said sardonically. Nat turned his back on the men and strode off to his own quarters, ignoring their amused glances.

* * *

Over a week later, the _Dolphin_ came within sight of the Wethersfield harbor, driven by an overdue breeze. Even though it was cooler today than it had been, and the town was swathed in fog, Nat could _feel _his spirits rising as he helped secure the ship and climbed down the side. His first thought was to hasten to Hannah Tupper's house, but shipping duties prolonged his absence. The cloth he had chosen for her, and the precious nails he planned to use for a few repairs, would wait. The people of Wethersfield who clamored for the ship's goods, on the other hand, were not so patient.

"Is that the last of it?" he called up to Gabe and the others, who were unloading molasses while Nat and Caleb helped guide the barrels to the ground.

"Oh, no, there's quite a bit more," Gabe said, his ironic tone piquing Nat's curiosity. He and another crew member took down a number of identical leather trunks onto the shore, stacking them together. Nat watched, bewildered. The Cruffs had not taken this much aboard, and John Holbrook had barely more than the clothes on his back. He thought back to their departure from Barbados, and here he finally remembered with a groan. A quick glance over the trunks revealed the initials _K.M.T._, confirming Nat's grim suspicions.

"Seven," he mumbled to himself. "What does she think to do with all of it?"

"What was that?" Caleb asked, righting a barrel that had tipped over. "Did you say something, Nat?"

Nat waved a hand at the luggage. "Mistress Tyler is going to have quite a time getting these to her aunt and uncle's house."

Caleb's cat-like green eyes grew enormous. "Are you saying these are all _hers?_" He laughed. "What could a girl possibly have to fill so many cases?"

Nat shrugged and said, "I would dearly like to see her try to carry them." A spoiled young lady, indeed. If this was what she had brought with her to New England, how much had she left behind? He looked up to see her conversing—almost arguing—with his father. Apparently, her relatives had not arrived to greet her, and hearing that made Nat feel genuinely sorry for her.

When Captain Eaton volunteered Nat to help carry Kit's baggage, along with two other sailors, he felt less sympathetic toward her plight. Striding behind his father, he smothered a laugh as she waded and stumbled through the muddy street, dirtying her petticoat and those ridiculous shoes. Seeing the bright color of her silk dress, however, he was reminded of an entirely different event, something he had not thought of for years.

* * *

Docked in Jamaica, father and son wandered through the marketplace. Given leave for the day, the crewmembers had scattered in all directions to amuse themselves elsewhere on the island. Even in the morning, the heat was oppressive, but when they remembered the blizzards and ice they had left behind in New England, no one complained.

Too young to remember their last visit to this island, little Nat took in everything with avid interest. Wherever he turned, there were fascinating people to look at and a vast display of items for sale—juicy fruits, colorful jewelry, and exotic plants. There were even people for sale, but as they approached the slave auction, Captain Eaton swiftly steered his son away. Trying to observe all the activity around him, wide-eyed Nat was easily sidetracked.

"Papa, look!" Nat grabbed his father's hand and pointed to an array of parrots, boasting every color of the rainbow. "Can we buy one? Can we take it back with us to Grandmother?"

The dark-skinned merchant smiled at the two of them and stroked one of the birds. He coaxed it into perching on his index finger and brought it closer to Nat. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he asked the boy.

Captain Eaton looked over the selection only to indulge his impulsive, overgenerous son. He nodded politely to the merchant before turning back to Nat. "I'm afraid it simply would not do, Nathaniel."

"But why?" Nat's face fell in disappointment. They did not have any birds like these in Saybrook, with the scarlet-tipped wings and bright green tail feathers. Their hooked beaks were both comical and intimidating, nimbly cracking the hardest nuts. Saybrook only had crows and dingy sparrows—nothing his grandmother would want to keep in the house. It would be a reminder, too, for his mother. In the spring and summer, when she was busy with gardening and her other household tasks, Mistress Eaton could see the bird when she visited her mother. It would remind her of more interesting, far-off places, where she would soon sail with husband and son.

"I'm sorry," his father said, genuinely apologetic but unyielding. "These birds are meant for places like this, where it's always warm and colorful."

"It's warm in the summer," Nat argued, "and there are lots of colors when the leaves change."

Captain Eaton smiled in spite of himself. "It's not quite enough. If we took one with us, it wouldn't be happy in Connecticut. The other birds would try to hurt it and chase it away. Trust me, Nat, such a bird would miss Jamaica. It would be unkind to take it home with us."

Finally allowing his father to lead him away, Nat turned and took one last look at the parrots. He was disappointed that he would not be able to take it home, but thinking about the fate his father had described made him feel glad, for the bird's sake. By the time they set sail, Nat had other things to occupy his mind, and he did not think of that bird again for more than ten years.

* * *

Nat relaxed his jaw, not realizing he had been clenching it tightly until they were at the Woods' house. His sweaty palms made it difficult to hold onto the trunks and keep them balanced on his shoulders. He reminded himself that he was fulfilling his promise to his mother, but there was a sinking feeling in his chest that he could not identify. She would be forgotten after a few weeks, he told himself, but even then he was aware that it was a lie. Even then, he knew Hannah Tupper was no longer his only reason to visit Wethersfield.

When they had reached the house and he was able to place the infamous luggage just inside the door, he looked again toward Kit. Her aunt, a shabby-looking woman who might have been lovely at one time, was absorbed in a conversation with Captain Eaton. Kit watched Nat's every move, and her chin lifted a little, challenging him to mock her again. He was only too willing to comply, though only as a way to hide the very real concern that he was afraid she had seen.

"Don't forget the water trial," he murmured, leaning toward her. "Only the guilty ones will float." It was a sarcastic statement, but hopefully she would grasp the true warning in it. That said, he turned his back on her and followed the other two sailors, who had already started back for the _Dolphin_.

He waded again through the mud, having planned to retrieve the items for Hannah before proceeding to her house. The entire walk back, however, his mind was completely occupied with the memory of those birds in Jamaica. _I hope the sparrows don't peck her apart_, he thought.


	4. Chapter 4

For the rest of the morning, Nat anxiously watched the sky. By the sun's highest point, all the cargo for Wethersfield had been unloaded and delivered to the proper hands. He was impatient to tend to his other, self-imposed duties while they were in town, but the captain kept the _Dolphin_'s entire crew occupied. As the sun began its downward course, Nat considered asking his father to release him from his obligations for a little while. Fortunately, he did not have to ask.

"We'll be setting sail in the morning to go further up the river," Captain Eaton said, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun and looking toward the water, his son beside him. "If there is anything else to be accomplished in this little town, it must be done by nightfall."

"I suppose so," Nat said, giving him an uncertain, sidelong glance.

Captain Eaton smiled. "Then you had better get on with it."

Nat grinned back. "Thank you, Father." Anyone seeing them then would have known beyond a doubt that they were father and son—they shared the very same smile, though Nat displayed it far more easily

He climbed down from the ship with a lightening heart and, small packages in hand, ran along High Street, pointedly ignoring the Wood house as he passed it. At last he reached the sprawling fields near Blackbird Pond. He did not slack his speed when he saw the tiny house at the edge of the meadow, though he had hours left until nightfall.

A few goats were grazing nearby, but they skipped away, startled by his hurried approach. Hannah's robust, marmalade-colored cat was at the door when he arrived, begging for entrance. Nat knocked loudly and let himself in, blinking in the dim light of the one room beneath the thatched roof. Hannah lifted her head, a cheerful smile bringing more lines to her aged face. She was carding wool, the basket at her feet already brimming with balls of fluff.

"Nat?" she said, staring at the silhouette in her doorway. "Is it Nat? I was hoping thee would come today! I was sure that was the _Dolphin _coming into the harbor this morning. Please, come in and sit with me for a bit. It's much cooler in here."

"Thank you, Hannah," he said, accepting her invitation and having a seat at the table. He set down the packages he had brought along. "I have some things for you, of course."

"Nat," she said, her tone a little scolding, "thee does _not_ have to bring me something every time thy ship comes into Wethersfield."

"Not _my_ ship," he corrected her. "My father's."

She smiled knowingly and set aside her basket and wool cards, giving the young man her undivided attention. "Well, it will be thy ship sometime, I'm sure," she said, folding her hands into her lap as though it were a proper social call.

He shrugged. "I haven't given it a _great_ deal of thought, but lately I've been wondering if I should purchase a ship of my own, instead of waiting to inherit the _Dolphin _from my father. By then, she may not be seaworthy at all. The captain is quite healthy, and not so very old."

"'Tis a wise consideration," Hannah said.

"And I would have spent my life in service to my father. He's a good man, but I'd prefer to go into trade for myself. I don't want to answer to anyone but myself…and the sea." He shook his head, staring out the window. "I don't know what to do yet." He became silent, beginning to feel the peace that seemed to come inevitably to anyone who ventured into the meadow, or was invited into Hannah's modest home.

"Thee is still a boy in many ways," Hannah remarked. "I remember the first time thee came to the meadow—"

"I know, Hannah," Nat interrupted, the grin coming back to this face. "I behaved like a ridiculous infant. Need you remind me?"

The old woman chuckled a little before she became a little more serious. "Thee has never spoken so much of thy future before. What happened to bring it so heavily on thy mind?" She smiled again, mischievous as only a woman of her age could be. "Has thee been thinking of marriage?"

"No!" Nat stood abruptly from his seat, accidentally shunting the table a few inches and almost tipping over the chair. "I'm sorry, Hannah. It's just that…No, I haven't." He laughed a little too brightly, sounding insincere. "If I answer to no one but myself and the sea, I surely won't answer to any wife!"

"So be it," Hannah said, with a vague wave of her hand. "I was merely curious why a young man suddenly would be more concerned about his future than he ever was before."

"I simply…had it on my mind," Nat said. Hannah only nodded. He picked up the packages he brought, eager for a distraction. "Here, let me show you what I brought today." He held out the measure of rich brown fabric, wrapped around the package of iron nails. "Now, this cloth isn't the prettiest in the world"—for a moment, his mind jumped to an image of Kit in all her silken finery—"but it's a good quality, and it will last a long time. I have some iron nails, too. Those wooden pegs you have in the door won't last before I come back, and I won't have it falling off and letting in the rain."

"Thee is far too generous," Hannah said, running her hands over the cloth. "'Tis always the case."

"I'm only generous to those who deserve it," Nat said, smiling. "I'd bring you more, if I could. I can't think of another person I know who is more deserving." He patted the wrinkled hand that still caressed the fabric. "I don't have to be back at the _Dolphin_ until this evening. I'm going to go on and mend that door of yours, while I still have the light." He squinted up at the ceiling, from which several shafts of light streamed through the air, dotting the floorboards. "A shame I haven't time to tend to the roof. It's going to need new thatching soon."

"Thee works hard enough on that ship without having to do chores for me," Hannah said. She stood up and began to shuffle around the room. "I have some goat's milk that I put aside for when thee came. Have a little now. Then thee can tell me all about thy latest journey to the Indies."

Caving to her insistence, Nat gratefully swallowed the milk. It had been weeks since he tasted anything so good. He wiped his lips and began his stories about the past winter. "After we left Connecticut with a load of horses, Father was offered another chance to bring black slaves from Barbados. Of course he refused, but we did take some paying passengers, as well as the cargo." Nat talked easily with Hannah as he worked on the door, removing the rotting wooden hinges and replacing them with the nails. When that was finished, he used the few nails left over to repair some of the boards in the floor. It would not do for Hannah to fall and break a fragile bone.

The entire time he worked, Nat recited the names of the islands, and the ports they had visited. He tried to describe the stirring sight of lush, green foliage and wide stretch of bright sand as they sailed into the harbors. He told her about the items for sale in the markets and the exotic smells of the food. Sometimes he tried to tease and shock her with his stories. In Jamaica, some of the men—not Nat, of course—got drunk on rum and stirred up some trouble in a local tavern. A furious Captain Eaton dismissed the two ringleaders and left them to their own devices. The _Dolphin_ had lingered in the Indies for an extra fortnight while they searched for able replacements for the journey back to America.

"Is thee glad to be back, Nat?" Hannah asked. "The way thee talks about those islands! I can't imagine how thee would ever want to leave."

"Of _course_ I'm glad to be back," he said, finishing his repairs and getting up from the floor. "I'm always happy to return to Connecticut and visit with you. Besides, it's the ship and the sea that I love best. The Indies are like paradise, but even if I lived there the year round, I would grow restless quite soon."

"Then thee was born to be a sailor," Hannah said, smiling. Looking around at her freshly repaired house, she added, "Well, Nat, I thank thee. I have no worries with thee to help me. If I had some blueberry cake, I would surely share it, though it would not nearly be enough payment for what thee has done today."

Nat picked up the piece of cloth and string with which the nails had been wrapped. "You know I'm not looking for payment, Hannah. I'm glad to do it. I should get back to the ship, though. There's sure to be plenty to do before we head back up the river in the morning." He bent to kiss Hannah's cheek and turned to go. He briefly scratched the cat behind her ears on the way out. At the doorway, he looked back. "We should return to Wethersfield on the way down the river," he said. "Father entertained the thought of sailing to England, but I don't think that will happen this year."

"I'm glad of that," Hannah said. "I would not see thee nearly as much."

Nat grinned. "I'm afraid not. Don't worry, Hannah, I'll be back as soon as I can."

He closed the door behind him and strode across the meadow. Unlike his arrival, Nat was in no hurry to get back. Passing the Woods' house again, however, he turned his head and picked up the pace.

When he returned to the _Dolphin _and helped prepare for the morning's departure, he could not help wondering if Hannah would soon have another guest in her home—one of closer proximity, more capable of making frequent visits. He balked at the idea, not wanting to 'share' Hannah with anyone. Perhaps he ought to have told her about Kit, even if just to amuse her, but then Hannah would have asked a number of questions that Nat was sure would not have wanted to answer. He unwillingly reprimanded himself for his selfishness. Hannah deserved more company than Nat's occasional calls. Even if Nat wanted nothing to do with Kit, Hannah might have need of her, and would be glad of the company.

_She might never meet her_, he told himself. _Hannah never goes to town, and Mistress Tyler is so self-important that she would hardly care to encounter a poor, old woman like Hannah, or to pay her any mind if she did_.

But the meadow drew certain people, Nat knew. Something about the fields near Blackbird Pond pulled at the soul. He knew also that Kit Tyler was likely to have the kind of soul that it pulled. He did not like the idea of putting himself in the same category as that vain young woman, but he knew the meadow was the most beautiful place in Wethersfield. Homesick and looking for a remnant of Barbados, it was only logical that Kit would find her way there. And if she came to the meadows, she would surely meet Hannah. Nat sighed, thinking about it as he loaded parcels and mended a piece of sailcloth. At the moment, he was the only friend Hannah had in the world.

But not for long.


	5. Chapter 5

As a contrast to the unusual heat that April, May proved to be a pleasantly cooler month, making work aboard the _Dolphin _much easier. By the time the crew made their next trip up the Connecticut River after a run to Charlestown, it was June and getting hotter again. The ship met with fair winds, scurrying along as though she was anxious to return to Saybrook. Unfortunately, once they had unloaded their cargo and the Eatons paid a visit to their female relatives, the breezes slackened, just like every summer.

The crawl from Saybrook to Wethersfield seemed especially slow this time, at least to Nat, though he was at a loss to explain why. He was, of course, always eager to see Hannah. His last visit, when the _Dolphin _was coming back down the river to the coast, was untimely and rushed. Inclement weather had delayed them, putting the captain in a particularly sour mood, and Nat had barely managed to get away from the harbor for any length of time. Now, with a full hold and a spirited crew, this next little voyage up and down the river looked to be a bit more enjoyable.

As always, once they had docked in Wethersfield and began to unload, Nat set to work with eager hands. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Once in a while he would catch himself lifting his head from the labor to scan the crowd that had formed around them. Having spent enough time in Wethersfield, many faces were familiar enough, but none of them belonged to the person he was looking for. Back in Saybrook, his mother had reminded him of his promise to watch out for Kit, and at that moment he was making a literal attempt to do so. When he found no sign of her, he shrugged to himself and kept working.

"What are you looking for, Nat?" Gabriel asked him.

Nat started, not even realizing he had been glancing around again. "Nothing," he said, pausing to wipe sweat from his face.

"Careful there," the red-headed sailor warned, "that's the mail you're lifting. You almost dropped it in the water!"

"It's all right," Nat said, tossing the sack at his crewmate. "But you can take care of it, since you're so concerned."

"No need to be peevish, I meant no harm."

Just then, Captain Eaton's voice pierced through the crowd. "Save your conversations for teatime, men, and get that cargo off this ship!"

At last, later in the afternoon, the final deliveries were made, and Captain Eaton declared they would spend one night in Wethersfield. Nat smiled at Caleb, who could not resist cheering. He knew Caleb had a sister living in Wethersfield with her husband and children, and Caleb had not been able to see them the last time. Together, he and Nat set off along High Street to pay their visits. Once Caleb reached his sister's doorstep, Nat waved at him and continued toward Blackbird Pond, shifting his small barrel of molasses from one arm to the other and silently cursing the heat.

His muscles seemed to stop aching once he came within sight of the house. He felt lighter on his feet as he drew closer, as though the past few hours of hard labor were only a vivid dream. He saw that Hannah's door was open, and—he grinned with satisfaction—resting perfectly on its hinges, though the roof was in worse shape than he remembered. He crept along the side of the house, intending to surprise her. Once he was right beside the open doorway, however, it was he who received the greatest surprise. The old woman was not alone.

"How _does_ one become a Quaker, Hannah?" another voice drifted to Nat's ears. He closed his eyes tightly and stifled a groan.

Kit.

His barriers up, Nat stepped into the doorway, his tall, wiry frame blocking out much of the light. Hannah looked up at him with joy, but his sudden arrival had startled Kit. For a moment the two of them eyed each other skeptically. Seeing her now, Nat could not help but be amused. Dependable linsey-woolsey had replaced her bright silks, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, with more caked under her fingernails. If it were not for her wide eyes and the lift of her stubborn chin, Nat might not have recognized her as the same young woman who had boarded the _Dolphin _several months ago.

"I had a suspicion that you two would meet somehow," he said, grinning.

Hannah's face was positively glowing as she welcomed him in. "Oh, Kit, this is Nathaniel Eaton, my dear seafaring friend."

"As a matter of fact, Mistress Tyler and I are old acquaintances," Nat said, grinning and bowing at the same time he tried to put down the small keg of molasses. The movement caught Kit's eye, and she lifted her eyebrows. Nat expected her to make some remark, but she kept silent.

Hannah indicated a seat for him. "Tell us where thee has been all this time."

"We've just come back from Charlestown," he replied, going on to describe some of the more interesting recent events in the town. He mentioned that his father was well, and told her about the hurried visit to his mother and grandmother in Saybrook. Meanwhile, Hannah's cat had leapt out of Kit's lap and into Nat's. Kit's offended frown made Nat grin again until the cat's claws dug into his thighs.

"Just before Kit came," Hannah said, "I told Thomas thee would be arriving soon. I know the winds can be unreliable, but it had been too long. He'll be happy to know you've come today."

Nat glanced at Kit, wondering if she had yet become familiar with Hannah's lapses in memory. Judging by the alarm on her face, she had not. When he asked Hannah about her goats, her clouded mind seemed to clear, and she behaved as though it had never happened. When the concern had passed from Kit's face, Nat sat up straighter, determined to satisfy his own curiosity.

"I must know," he said, addressing the young woman, "how they let you find your way here."

Before Kit could answer, Hannah laughed softly and said, "Why, Nat, she came to me the same way as thee—lying in the grass and weeping with grief. It seems to be the only way I make friends anymore."

Heated color poured into Nat's face before he had a chance to suppress it. A fine thing for Hannah to mention, and in front of Kit, of all people! He should have known Hannah would not be able to keep a secret, not with an aged memory such as hers. Trying to hide his embarrassment, he tilted his chin upward and looked at Kit, wondering what great misery she had already encountered in Connecticut. Whatever it was, Hannah's presence had worked the same charms, for she seemed reasonably content.

"You too?" Kit asked, her eyes even wider with astonishment.

"Well, I _was _just eight years old," he explained.

"Did you run away?"

Nat nodded, somehow figuring there was no harm in sharing the story with her. "We were coming back down the river, and my father had just told me that I was to stay in Saybrook for the winter. I was to live with my grandmother while I went to school, and my parents went on to the Indies. I thought my life would end right there. My father had always been the one to teach me, and I hardly spent more than one night at a time away from the _Dolphin_. I never wanted it to be any other way. So I ran from the harbor when we came ashore, determined that they would never find me. I don't remember what I was thinking; maybe that I would join the next ship down the river and catch up with the _Dolphin _in Jamaica."

Kit laughed. Nat took it as encouragement and went on. Even if it was a little humiliating, he never could resist telling a good story.

"Of course, being younger and unfamiliar with Wethersfield further inland, I got lost. Somehow I found my way to the meadows. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before—it just went on and on. The waving grasses were almost like the ocean. I wandered around there, lost and scared and hungry and not having one blessed idea what I was doing or what would happen to me. Eventually Hannah found me and brought me here. Somehow I felt I could trust her enough to tell her everything, and when I was done, she came back with me to the harbor. Even gave me a kitten to take."

"Did you have blueberry cake?" Kit asked, sounding almost childlike herself.

"As only a little boy can eat," Hannah said.

"So what happened to you after that?"

Nat grinned, scratching the yellow cat behind the ears. "I got a good whipping for running away. I didn't care, though. I felt braver than I'd ever felt before in my life, and I did go to school that winter. I was anxious to get back on that ship, let me tell you, but my grandmother was great company. The cat came on the _Dolphin _with me, too, and for six years, we never cast off without her. The whole crew thought she was good luck."

Kit smiled in Nat's direction, but he saw it was meant for the yellow cat. Hannah clasped her hands together in excitement.

"Now thee may both have supper here with me," she said, her bright smile deepening the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks. "It will be so merry!"

But Kit stood up and peered out of the doorway at the sky. "I hadn't realized it was so late. I'm sorry, Hannah, but I don't think I can stay away any longer."

"_I _can," Nat said, though he nudged the cat to the floor and also rose to his feet.

"God be with thee, then," Hannah said to Kit.

"So," Nat said, accompanying Kit through the doorway and toward the road, "I have to ask you what _you _were running from when Hannah found you." He could not help grinning, feeling some kind of wicked satisfaction. "Has Wethersfield been less rosy and welcoming as you had expected?" He wanted to remind Kit that he _had _warned her, after all, but he held his tongue as she straightened her shoulders and put on a smug appearance.

"Things have been going very well," she said.

She sounded stiff, giving Nat the idea that her words were not as sincere as she might wish. He realized she was creating a façade for his sake, and he found himself wishing he had not been so condescending. That, however, only made him more irritated at himself, for why should he care what she thought of him?

"No more swimming, then, I hope," he added, the words coming out almost before he could think.

"_I've_ become a teacher at the dame school with my cousin Mercy," she said, sounding huffy and more self-important with every syllable. "I'm earning wages, too."

"Ah, well," Nat said, unable to resist bowing to her again, "if I had known I was in the presence of a schoolmistress, I should have been more careful with my grammar. Being so long at sea, you know, such things tend to slip."

Kit's scowl told him that he had crossed whatever invisible line had been drawn between them. They walked on in silence, Nat stewing in the awkwardness he had created. _Was that necessary?_ he asked himself. It was too late to repair the damage, so at least he decided to change the subject before they parted ways at the end of the meadow.

"Well, whatever happened to you, I'm glad it led you to Hannah. She needs more company, and you'd probably be good for her." Kit looked at him once more with suspicion, as though unable to believe he could be so considerate. Not that he blamed her. He added, "Would you please look out for her?"

His mother's face flashed in his mind's eye for an instant, reminding him of the promise he had made to her so many weeks ago. He pushed it away as he waited for Kit's response.

"Of course," she said, "for Hannah's sake."

Upon reaching the road, he gave her a nod and a half-wave, watching her until she disappeared from sight. Though she held her head high, she did not once look back. Shaking his head, he turned to go back to Hannah's house. Sometimes, he wished he could just let things pass him by, instead of grasping every opportunity to make some kind of stinging remark. There was no reason to be unkind, especially to a woman. Despite her boasting, Kit was having a difficult time in Connecticut, and if he was not going to help her, he at least shouldn't hinder her adjustment.

"How did thee come to meet her?" Hannah asked, almost as soon as Nat stepped inside the house. Her eyes sparkled with something Nat didn't want to think about.

He sighed, having dreaded this conversation since he had arrived that day. Taking a seat once again, he said, "She was one of the passengers on the _Dolphin_, from Barbados. She came to Wethersfield the day I brought those nails for your door."

"Ah," Hannah said. "Thee has never mentioned her."

Nat shrugged and lied through his teeth. "I suppose I just forgot."

"Poor girl. She is so eager, and trying so hard, but she is just not one of them. She misses her grandfather and her home in Barbados very much. Wethersfield is new and confusing to her, and she doesn't know how she is to behave."

"What happened to her," Nat found himself asking, "that she came to you?"

Hannah smiled and shook her head. "Perhaps she might not wish me to tell thee what happened that day. I _will_ say that she had an idea for teaching the children their lessons, and it was far from what the schoolmaster deemed proper. I saw nothing wrong in it…just _different_."

Listening to her talk of Kit, Nat felt even worse about the things he had said to her earlier, and the manner in which he spoke. It was difficult to picture Kit in the meadow grass, sobbing profusely and thinking that nothing would ever be right again. She always seemed so hard-headed and stubborn—rather like Nat himself—and always with that superior attitude, so cultured and far above the life of an honest worker. He never could forget the complaints she made about the _Dolphin_'s cleanlinessand the dreariness of Saybrook harbor.

"She reminds me of the flower bulb thee brought from Africa," Hannah was saying. "It wasn't very promising at first. I can't help wondering if it would have been all the more beautiful in its own home. Yet it grew so persistently, and I was so happy to see it bloom."

Grinning, Nat said, "Anything can bloom with your care, Hannah."

"I would hate to see such a flower go to waste," Hannah said, sighing. Watching her stare through the doorway into the meadow beyond, Nat wondered if she was speaking of the real flower, or of Kit herself.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, gentlemen," Gabe said, lifting a mug of ale toward his companions, "the summer months are near an end."

"Soon we'll be back in the Indies," Caleb added, joining in the toast.

"And fighting off the tropical storms and diseases," Nat added wryly.

The others laughed at his remark, but did not let it dampen their morale. Instead, they moistened their throats with drink, enjoying their last evening in New Orleans. Already the beers and rum had loosened tongues and shortened tempers, though Nat had not drunk half as much as his shipmates. As the captain's son, he had much more to lose from self-indulgence—as had been proven the year before, when an evening spent at a Boston tavern had earned him the worst thrashing of his life. Tonight, he already lacked the proper mood to partake in all their gaiety.

"What's wrong with you, Nat?" asked Tom Bates, another sailor. Failing to attract the barmaid's attention, he turned back to his friends. "You're always looking forward to winters in the Indies."

"He's been in a sour mood since we left Connecticut," Gabe said.

"I don't know," Nat said. "I'm just in low spirits tonight."

"That's why we have _these _spirits!" Tom said, laughing.

Nat rolled his eyes. "I see no reason to celebrate so soon. My father wants to make at least two more runs up and down the river before winter, and one to Boston, besides."

"Ah," Tom said, "the Indies is always worth celebrating!" He turned to another barmaid who scurried past him. "Becca, my sweet, how about another round here? There's a good lass." To Nat, he said, "Now, stop your brooding. If it's the last night, why shouldn't we have some fun? You, my friend, could use a little merriment. Why don't you forget what the captain says for once, just for a few hours?"

"Because his father's got no qualms about caning his hide if he misbehaves himself," Caleb said, chuckling.

"All right," Nat said, standing up and slapping a few coins onto the table. "I'm going back to the ship, and if any of you are so drunk that you fall and crack open your head in an alley somewhere…" He shrugged. "I suppose we'll pick up new hands in Boston."

Ignoring his shipmates' good-natured jeers, Nat stormed out of the tavern. It was cooler by now, though the air was thick and humid. Once he was out of that stifling building, Nat no longer felt like returning to the _Dolphin_. Instead, he strolled along the dark harbor, admiring what he could see of the other ships and stepping aside to let a few more drunken men stumble past. Two gaunt, shabbily-clothed women lingered at the edge of an passageway, eyeing him hopefully, but he looked the other way with a shudder.

He could not deny what the men had said. He _had _been gloomy company since they left Connecticut—more specifically, since Wethersfield. Nat could not forget his last encounter with Kit at Hannah's house, and how rudely he had spoken to her. He had mustered the humility needed to apologize, but their last docking in Wethersfield had been hurried, without time even to visit Hannah.

Kit was proud, Nat knew well enough, and considered Puritan life in Connecticut beneath her. Yet she was trying to make do, and trying to do it properly. He had to admire her for that, even as he resented that same admiration. Hannah considered her a friend, and Kit obviously felt the same way about Hannah. She could not be so very conceited and selfish if she was willing to bestow familiarity upon an old Quaker woman who had so little to give back.

As for himself, Nat had to admit that his behavior was rude, almost pathetic. She was so eager and spirited, and all he could do was make sarcastic remarks to shame her. He had hated her for being arrogant and insulting, and yet his own behavior was no better. She deserved some civility on his part, if not friendship. For weeks, Nat had been sulking over his own hypocrisy, and his failure to carry out what he had promised his mother. Even as he felt so, he remained frustrated, not understanding why he had to care at all. As he was normally the most jovial of the crew, the others took notice of his altered temper and gave him a wide berth.

_Maybe an apology isn't necessary_, he thought as he made his way back to the _Dolphin_. _I just have to remember to behave more kindly to her next time—if there is a next time_.

And if there wasn't…what of it?

* * *

There was, indeed, a next time. As usual, the winds on the river failed to blow, and the ship sat stubbornly in the water soon after leaving Saybrook. Captain Eaton ordered them to walk the ship up the river again, but after two days of trying, the crew was exhausted. That evening, near Rocky Hill, the captain declared the following day to be one of rest. Nat, however, was impatient; he could not endure an entire day of idling around the ship. Early the next morning, he approached his father and asked permission to take one of the boats ashore.

"Visiting Hannah Tupper?" Captain Eaton asked, appearing more curious than usual.

"Yes, sir. It's been several weeks, and I know of a few chores that need doing." He thought of that damned roof, which he never seemed to have time to mend. It had to be fixed before winter, if he wanted Hannah to see spring again.

"Very well, then," his father said, "but see to it you're back by nightfall. And keep a sharp eye out—if the wind picks up soon, meet us at the harbor instead."

"Aye, aye, sir," Nat said, eagerly recruiting a few hands to help him lower the boat. Already he could feel his spirits lifting. He rowed up the river with renewed strength, securing the boat close to the swamp near Hannah's house.

"I never saw the _Dolphin_ coming," she said, tottering out of her little home. "Come in, come in! The bread and the milk are both fresh."

"I rowed ahead," Nat said. "My father gave the crew the day off while we're becalmed, but I couldn't stand to wait. I never got the chance to come last time—the wind was good, and we were already days late for our trip to New Orleans."

"Oh, shush, 'tis no matter." Hannah set out the goat's milk, bread and butter, and a helping of plump blackberries. "I know thee comes when thee can. Go on, now, take a seat there."

"I can get plenty of things done today," Nat said, gulping the milk.

Hannah sat down carefully at the table and took a helping of bread. "Nat," she said, her tone scolding, "I don't want thee to think I expect anything more than thy company."

"And I don't want _you_ to think I'm not perfectly willing and happy to do anything for you, Hannah." Wiping his mouth, he stood up. "The first thing I'm to do is make sure you're well-stocked with firewood. After that, I'll cut some thatching for the roof. Right now the grass is still too wet from the dew." He smiled. "If it makes you feel better, you can come out and visit while I work, and enjoy the fine weather."

Hannah laughed and waved her hand as though dismissing his words, but once she had cleaned up after the meal, Nat was pleased to see her settle herself on a tree stump. She had brought out a basket of wool to card while they spoke, and Nat chuckled as he swung the axe to cut down another tree.

"You hardly let your hands go idle, do you?" he asked her.

"They are the devil's workshop." She smiled, though he could see that her aged fingers were having a little difficulty grasping the wool cards. If Nat had any experience in carding, he would offer to do it himself, but he knew he would be of little help in such a feminine task. Instead, he worked even harder at his current task. All the while, he told Hannah the more pleasant details about their trip to New Orleans. In return, Hannah told him about the new kittens, and what little town gossip she had gleaned from Kit.

Not wanting to start a conversation about _her_, Nat avoided asking further questions. Hannah went on to discuss the state of her garden, and Nat relaxed. Soon, she had carded all the wool in her basket and returned to the house to begin spinning it. Meanwhile, Nat's head pounded from the sun and his arms ached with every swing of the axe. He took a short break to drink from Hannah's well and remove his sodden shirt, but went straight back to work.

Just as he drove the blade into another log, he looked up to see Kit Tyler standing not ten feet away, watching him. He paused in his work, unsure of what to say.

"I hadn't realized the _Dolphin _was in," she said by way of a greeting, her tone puzzled.

"She's becalmed on the river, so I rowed ahead." Irritated by her unexpected appearance, he asked, "Would you have postponed your visit if you'd known?"

Kit only shrugged indifferently and looked over the results of his handiwork. "I see now how Hannah can manage on her own. Isn't it a little warm to be chopping firewood?"

Nat was not in a mood to argue, and reminded himself to be polite. "It is, but we'll be sailing for Barbados by the time she has to use it." He nodded at the enormous pile he had accumulated. "I want to make sure she's got enough to last until spring."

"Kit, is it thee?" Hannah's voice drifted to the side of the house as she emerged from the doorway. "It _is! _What a delight to have _two _visitors today. Why does thee not come inside, child, out of the hot sun?" She gasped, noticing the firewood stacked against the house. "Nat, thee must be mad! How does thee expect me to use up all this fuel?"

Laughing, Nat laid aside the axe. "I suppose that duty's taken care of. Next is the roof—I've been meaning to repair the thatching for months, and it's in such a sorry state."

"I'll help, if you like," Kit said.

Nat blinked, astonished at the offer. He never expected to hear such words come out of Kit Tyler's mouth, but there they were. Hannah was not mistaken after all. Now that he had the chance to see her up close, he noticed how tan her arms had become, covered with thin scratches and not at all becoming to the granddaughter of an honored knight. There were calluses on her hands too, which she hid in her fists when she noticed him looking. He grinned. Puritan work had certainly taught her some humility, but it hadn't broken her spirit—that much was apparent once they began cutting and gathering grass for the thatching. They spoke little, concentrating on their own tasks. On the roof, Nat showed her how to spread the grasses and press them flat as he wove lengths of string and vine to secure them.

"There," Kit said, when the arduous task was finally complete. "I'd say 'tis a handsome roof."

"I'm glad for your help." Nat said, settling back to rest on the bristly thatching. "Makes the work go by much faster." For a while, neither of them said anything, but only stared at the river, shimmering brilliantly under the late afternoon sun.

"I can't believe how blue the water looks today," Kit said pensively. "It reminds me of Carlisle Bay."

"Not homesick, are you?" Nat asked. It struck him, then, how strange it was, not only to find himself leaning back on Hannah's roof, with Kit for company, but also the feeling of being completely at ease. There was something about sharing labor that made people more comfortable with each other. Maybe that was why he got along so well with his shipmates.

"Well, not when I'm here, in the meadow."

"Kit," Nat said, pausing to pluck out a piece of straw and chew on it. Curse this aloofness; he was too curious not to ask. "In all honesty, how has it been? Would you rather you'd never left Barbados?"

She took a few moments to answer, and he looked away, giving her as long as she needed to speak and knowing she would be truthful.

"Sometimes…I wish I _could _go back. But there is hardly anything there for me anymore. Yet I don't really belong _here_, either. Things are very confusing."

Once again, Nat remembered that time in Jamaica with his father, when he wanted to purchase one of the colorful birds in the marketplace. He found himself telling Kit the whole story, admitting that she had reminded him of those birds when they had deposited her at the Woods' doorstep. He even confessed that it had been on his mind as he walked away that morning. The words came out so easily that he hardly thought to be embarrassed until she had begun to laugh.

"I suppose I've become a sparrow, then." She plucked a piece of straw out of her hair.

He turned and looked at her, feigning only a casual interest. Something stirred in his chest, and he almost wished he had not said anything. Why had he so effortlessly let down his guard? He forced out a matching chuckle. "I don't think so—I'd wager you still have those green feathers hidden away somewhere."

Kit shifted her weight a little and turned her eyes back toward the river, and Nat forced himself to do likewise. "These Puritans are so bewildering," she said. "Why does everything have to be so gloomy and serious all the time?"

Nat had wondered the same thing so often that her question made him laugh. She looked fairly peeved at his mirth until he said, "I think that's what too much education does to a person. If you're looking to be a scholar all your life, even a minister, I understand, but I can't see what a sailor or a farmer would need with so much Latin and Greek."

"You don't think a man should be learned?" Kit asked, not without a touch of scorn in her voice. Nat rolled his eyes, realizing she must still think him an ignorant seaman who thought of nothing but halyards and mizzenmasts. She must be deliberately misunderstanding him.

"Not at all. I sincerely believe in an education. But the best purpose for a boy to learn his mathematics is to find his way across the ocean and turn a profit with his cargo."

"I see," Kit said, sounding almost interested. Encouraged, he went on.

"Reading is a different matter. When the sea is calm and the tasks finished, there is nothing like a good book. Better company than my shipmates at times, I must admit."

"Do they share your way of thinking?" Kit teased.

"Not many besides my father."

She grew serious again. "What kinds of books?"

He shrugged. "Just about anything that came along. Voyage accounts, old logbooks, things like that for the most part. Once we received some plays by Shakespeare, and they were an interesting change."

Kit gasped and sat up straighter, obviously delighted. "I _adore _Shakespeare! Grandfather had most of his plays, and we read them all the time. Sometimes we'd act them out together." Her voice trailed off for a moment and Nat noticed a shadow pass her eyes. Something had disturbed her. But she seemed to shake it off, and, smiling, asked, "Which was your favorite?"

Nat grinned, partly at himself. "I enjoyed the one with the shipwreck, if it is any surprise—with that fellow and his daughter. Prospero, was that his name?"

"Yes! _The Tempest_." Kit laughed and relaxed again. "Grandfather liked to think of himself as Prospero. He said Shakespeare made their island sound just like one of the Indies'."

"Did that make you the daughter, then?"

"Miranda? We never thought she was anything like me."

"I always wondered," Nat said thoughtfully, "what happened to them after the play ended, when they went back to England. She must have caused a stir among all those stuffy ladies in London."

For a moment, they were both quiet again. Then Kit's brow furrowed, and she twisted a little to face Nat more directly. "It was Naples, Nat, not England—and your mentioning London reminds me of something else. I don't understand all this talk among the colonists against King James. Why are they so disloyal?"

Upon hearing the question, Nat felt a little spark ignited within him. Disloyal? _Yes_, he thought angrily, _it might be called that_. He was prepared to list all the complaints against the monarch that his family had built up over the years. He recalled the objections his father had often voiced, arbitrary laws created by one powerful man who knew nothing of the lives he was crushing beneath his thumb. He might have become furious at Kit for once again being a privileged little girl who never questioned any of the injustices around her.

Then, he reminded himself of their vastly different upbringings. She was never induced to know any better—the least he could do was try to help her understand.

"You see, Kit," he said slowly, trying to sort out his thoughts as he spoke them aloud, "loyalty must be earned, not demanded, and there are always two sides to it. If the king is loyal to us by keeping his side of a bargain and does not obstruct the privileges we have, then loyalty is certainly deserved. But if he..." Here he sighed and hesitated, trying to put it into terms they might both understand. "Think of the colonies as a ship. If the King constantly delays our voyages, and insists on taxing us until the ship is barely seaworthy, then we must cast off and take command ourselves."

"That's treason!" Kit gasped. "You could _hang _for that."

Nat carelessly threw away the chewed straw. He certainly did not want to hang, but the odds of them arresting the young sailor Nathaniel Eaton for such talk were slim, if existent at all. Once again, he gave voice to the thoughts he himself had mulled over for a long time.

"Is it? A man is loyal to that which is closest to him—his land, his family. In my father's case, as in mine, it's the _Dolphin_. We'd give anything to sail her as we like, taking on all the risks ourselves. Now, Kit—do you _really_ think that a far-off king should tell us where to sail, what to carry on board, how much to charge, when he himself doesn't know the first thing about it? It's _our_ livelihood at stake, not the king's. Who would you trust more to see you through a gale—the sailors themselves, or His Royal Majesty, lounging on his throne in England?"

Kit frowned at him and shook her head just slightly. He knew she was not agreeing with him, but trying to come to terms with these new ideas. Now she was looking at him as though she didn't know what to do with him, and Nat could not help but be amused. She seemed about to say something else when Hannah came back outside.

"Has thee finished yet?" she called up to them. "Thee must both stay for supper."

"Oh, Hannah," Kit gasped, beginning to scale down the ladder, "I hadn't realized it was getting to be so late. They'll be wondering what happened to me."

The old woman smiled, resigned. "My company is always leaving too quickly. First it was thee, Nat, and then Kit, and now Prudence is also coming to and fro."

Curious, Nat pulled on his shirt and looked between the two women, waiting for an explanation. But Kit only kissed Hannah's cheek and promised to return as soon as she could.

"I'll walk to the road with you," Nat volunteered, only to wonder why he had offered. "I will be back soon." Hannah nodded, and the two young people walked together through the meadow. "I'm glad you come to see her," he said, when they were out of earshot of the cottage.

"I am, too. I can't help worrying sometimes," Kit said. "When her mind wanders, and she thinks her husband is still alive…"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Nat said. "She's older than we realize, and I wouldn't wish to take her husband away from her, even if only in her mind. Apparently, Thomas Tupper was a Quaker hero. The pair of them languished in a Massachusetts prison, and then were branded and beaten all the way to Connecticut. If you've faced all that with another person, you wouldn't want him to disappear forever, either."

"I suppose not," Kit said.

"So who is this Prudence?" Nat asked. It was an abrupt change of subject, but he was curious and wanted to move on to a more cheerful matter.

"I'm sure you remember the little girl with the doll," Kit said. "She's been meeting me at Hannah's house for reading lessons. They won't let her go to school, and she's the cleverest child I've ever met! She's already reading the Bible…"

"Her mother thinks you cast a spell over her, I imagine," Nat chuckled. But instead of laughing with him, Kit pursed her lips and looked concerned.

"That poor girl," she said. "Goodwife Cruff mistreats her so, and her father is utterly useless in defending her. She used to listen to me teaching the other children, but she was terrified to come in. I finally brought her to Hannah's, and she's been thriving."

Nat was quiet, trying to remember the child and her parents. Most vivid in his mind was the disgusted expression on Goodwife Cruff's face after they had pulled Kit out of the water that memorable day in Saybrook's harbor. At the time, Nat had been too wet and frustrated to care about the poisonous tone that woman had used to scold both Prudence and Kit. Now, remembering it made the heat rush to his face in anger.

"She'll be all right if she has you and Hannah now," he said. When she looked up at him, he smiled, trying to help lift her suddenly lowered spirits. It did not seem to take effect as he had intended; she only turned away again, her brow furrowed thoughtfully as they kept walking. When they reached the road, she slowed her pace significantly. He matched her stride, but did not stop, and they proceeded down Broad Street.

"How many are there, then, in the Wood household?" he asked. He wanted to be friendly, and chose to ignore her baffled expression.

"Two daughters, Mercy and Judith," she finally answered, "besides my aunt and uncle, and me, of course. There was a son, but he died a long time ago." Her words came quickly, followed by an even swifter silence. Nat began to question the wisdom in accompanying her so far. He had wanted to join her all the way to the house, but by now he was wondering if she was unhappy with his doing so. Still, she never spoke a word about it, and they were nearly there, so he easily shrugged away the awkwardness.

At last, the house was in view, with all the residents standing around the front door, taking in the evening air after dinner…or waiting for a long-lost niece to return. A quick mental count informed him of an extra number in their company—a tall, stocky young man with light brown hair. As he and Kit came closer, Nat saw that the visitor was better dressed than most of Wethersfield's citizens. The young man's expression made it quite clear that he was none too pleased to see Kit escorted by a sailor of similar age and even greater height.

One of Kit's cousins scolded her as they approached. Her words, as well as Kit's response, were hardly more than a buzzing sound in Nat's ears. His only focus was on this other young man, wondering what he was doing there. The shape and tilt of this newcomer's chin and his smallish hazel eyes, as well as his impeccable costume, informed Nat beyond a doubt of his identity. This was surely a member of the Ashby family, well-known along the river.

He regarded Nat with the same amount of suspicion and dislike as Nat's blue eyes swept once up and down young Ashby's frame before settling on his flushed face. _Dandy little brat,_ Nat thought to himself. Finally, the silence grew weighty enough for them to notice. Nat looked away to acknowledge Matthew and Rachel Wood, and to salvage his own pride.

"My sincere apologies for the delay in Mistress Tyler coming home," he said. "I am indebted to her for helping me thatch Hannah Tupper's roof, though perhaps it was inappropriate for me to accept it. I only hope you were not put out by her absence." With one final, narrowed glare at Master Ashby, he made his goodbyes and another apology before turning back the way they had come.

_What the hell is _that? he asked himself, forcing his head up and his shoulders back, in case they were still watching him. _Are you _angry _that he was there, waiting for her? _He snorted in contempt. _Of course, they _would _find each other, wouldn't they?_ _No wonder she did not welcome my company today_. All he could see in his mind's eye was that man's face—soft, peeved, and arrogant. _I wonder what he thinks of her thatching a Quaker heretic's roof, _Nat thought. _I can't imagine what she even sees in that man_.

Suddenly, he halted in his tracks, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular as he stared down the road. What was he _doing?_ Perhaps that man was there to call upon Kit—and perhaps he was not. _And if he was, then what does it matter to me? Why should I care?_ He shook his head vigorously, like a dog shaking off water, and kept walking. After barely a minute, however, he was obliged to stop abruptly once again.

_Why _do _I care?_


	7. Chapter 7

It was not long before Nat had the opportunity himself to encounter Prudence Cruff. A few weeks after the incident at the Woods' threshold, the _Dolphin _again docked at Wethersfield to deliver mail and a few passengers. When Nat arrived at Hannah's, he found her at her spinning, with a little girl at the table, reading from the Bible.

"These old eyes of mine just barely saw the _Dolphin _coming in," Hannah said, never pausing in her work. "Prudence, this is my sailor friend, Nat Eaton."

"I remember you," Prudence said, offering him a shy smile when she looked up from her reading. "You're the captain's son. You jumped into the water to rescue Kit because you thought she couldn't swim."

Nat lifted his eyebrows, surprised not so much by the words—of course a child would remember such a thing—but by her appearance. He only vaguely remembered Prudence, but he had pictured the scrawny, pinched face and sunken eyes of months ago. _This _Prudence Cruff, however, he would not have recognized in a crowd. There was color in her face, and a clarity in her expression, that could have come only from the loving care of someone like Hannah. Or, he reluctantly considered, from Kit.

"She told me you're a good student," Nat said, hoping to lead the conversation away from that unnecessary plunge into the water. Prudence's smile broadened into a proud grin.

"'Tis true, indeed," Hannah spoke up. "Why does thee not show him? Let him see how well thee can read the Good Book." She suggested the 122nd Psalm, and Prudence carefully turned the thin pages until she reached it.

At first, her voice trembled a little, but with continued reading, it gained confidence.

_I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord. _

_Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem. _

_Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together: _

_Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the Lord. _

_For there are set thrones of judgment, the thrones of the house of David. _

_Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee. _

_Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces. _

_For my brethren and companions' sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee. _

_Because of the house of the Lord our God I will seek thy good._

When she had finished, she took a deep breath, as though she had emerged from underwater with buried treasure.

"Very well done," Hannah said. "Thee has progressed so rapidly. I've never known a brighter child."

"Thank you, Hannah," Prudence said, closing the Bible. The three of them were quiet for a few moments, until Nat spoke up again.

"'Peace be within thy walls,'" he murmured, looking around at the single small room. "It reminds me of this house." He watched the specks of dust swirling languidly in the golden light coming through the window and listened to the steady humming of Hannah's spinning wheel. Even the warm, welcoming scent of fresh bread still lingered in the air.

"I could stay here forever," Prudence sighed, leaning down to stroke the cat sitting at her dangling feet.

"As could I," Nat said.

Hannah chuckled gently. "Nat, I don't believe thee could endure being on land forever. One more day, and thee would be begging to return to the _Dolphin_."

"I suppose you're right."

"What's it like," Prudence asked, "being at sea? I've only ever been up the river between Saybrook and Wethersfield."

Grinning, Nat leaned closer to the child, as though sharing a great secret. "If you'll go to the meadows and just stand there, with the grasses swaying, and the breeze in your face as you breathe in the scent of the river…that's a little bit what it's like. Nothing but blue waves all 'round you, and the great stretch of sky overhead…"

He paused, and Prudence bit her lip, waiting anxiously for his next words.

"'Tis the most deliciously terrifying thing in the world," he went on. "Especially when it storms, and the ship is being tossed about, and everyone in the crew is working together for their very lives. But when it's tranquil, no sight is more beautiful. There's nothing like sailing to make a man feel free."

"Can I be a sailor?" Prudence asked. "I wish I could up and sail away, like Kit did. Have you been to Barbados? Is it as magical as she says it is?"

Nat glanced at Hannah. Though still busy with her spinning, he knew she was listening to every word. To answer Prudence's question, he said, "It is. Colors everywhere, like nothing you've ever seen, and it's warm all year. Though I understand the heat is near to unbearable in the summer months."

"She says that all you do in the summer is go up and down the river," the child said.

"Not all," Nat said. At first he was slightly affronted, but the feeling quickly subsided as he wondered why Kit was talking about him at all. "We were in New Orleans a few weeks ago, and we'll be going to Boston next. Once winter's settled in, we sail to the Indies, and then it's back to the Connecticut River for another season. But wherever we are, it makes little difference as long as we're on the _Dolphin_." He grinned as though he spoke about a woman he was courting.

"It sounds exciting."

Nat was beginning to like this child—they seemed to share a common interest. Unfortunately, time was swiftly passing, and so was daylight. It was high time he went back to the ship and prepared to leave once again. He made his apologies to both females as he scrambled to his feet, and then addressed Prudence directly.

"I would like to hear you read the next time I come to visit," he said. "You're every bit as clever as they tell me. I expect to see a vast improvement in your education." He winked merrily at her, and she smiled back at him.

"You will!" she said, delighted.

"Hannah," Nat said, bending down to give her weathered hand a little squeeze, "I will tell you all about the goings-on of Boston when I return—there is still time for a few decent visits before we leave for the winter."

"I hope so," Hannah said. "Give my greetings to thy family, Nat. I pray for a safe journey. We shall be waiting for thee when thee comes back, won't we, Prudence?"

The little girl nodded eagerly. "And maybe Kit will be here next time!"

Nat turned away with one last wave and walked quickly across the meadows. At the innocent mention of Kit's name and the idea of her being there the next time, a little knot had formed in his stomach. He could not ignore the feeling of disappointment that she had not appeared today, even though he was relieved, as well. He was never more uncertain about life, about himself, than when he was with her. At the same time, he felt something akin to when he and his crewmates faced a squall on the high seas—frustrated and scared to death, but never more alive. And in the end…quite content.

"I'd rather battle a storm," Nat muttered to himself as he proceeded down the road to the harbor, carefully avoiding the route that would take him past the Woods' house.

* * *

"That's everything, sir," Caleb said, tossing one final sack of rice into the cargo hold.

"Well done," said Captain Eaton. "See that the men are aboard and ready to set sail before dusk." Leaving Nat and the others behind to finish it, he moved away to converse with two other ships' captains who lingered at the Boston docks.

"Not _quite_ ready," Nat said to Caleb, indicating the approach of Gabriel and three other crew members. The four of them staggered under the burden of several wooden crates, moving with far more care than they had used for the other supplies. Nat and Caleb watched them, amused.

"What have you got there?" Nat called. "Looks mighty heavy!"

"Only the most precious goods we've got to carry this trip," Gabe shouted back, punctuating his words every so often with a grunt that indicated what effort it took to carry the crates. "Take care getting them aboard," he said to his companions. "Drop one, and the captain will have your head. That is, only _after _he makes you pay through the nose."

Nat laughed at what he considered an empty threat. "We've been carting horses, rice, and lumber. What could we possibly be carrying of such worth that you have to use such care?"

"Perhaps they hold the chopped-up remains of Governor Andros," Caleb muttered in jest, referring to the man appointed by King James as governor in the Colonies, the source of a great deal of unrest. "They've finally found a way to be rid of him, and have given your father the honor of disposing of all evidence."

Nat laughed impulsively at that remark, but soon lowered his voice in warning to his friend. "Better watch your tongue while you're still in Boston, Caleb." He shrugged. "It's not a bad suggestion, though—I can't think what else they might contain." He raised his voice so that Gabe and the rest of the men could hear. "Surely no one in Connecticut Colony has any use for precious china or fine sculpture?"

"Not exactly," Gabe said, "but apparently they _do _have a use for sixteen diamond-paned windows. At least, fine gentlemen like William Ashby do."

"William Ashby?" Nat lifted his eyebrows slightly at the mention of the name. From what he'd heard of the Ashby family—and saw from the young man's appearance—they could certainly afford such a luxury. But what was William Ashby to do with an extravagance like glass windows—and _sixteen_, at that? In a town as austere as Wethersfield, they would be excessive to the point of being comical.

"Aye, indeed." Gabe finally reached the ship with his share of the freight, stopping to wipe the sweat from his neck and brow. "The merchant we picked 'em up from was a talkative fellow. It seems that young lady who sailed with us from Barbados last April has done quite well for herself. She's to be young Master Ashby's bride as soon as his house is finished. Judging from those windows, it'll be the grandest house in the colony."

"I see." Nat said, trying to keep his voice even. He stood stiffly and watched the men bring the valuable crates aboard. Fortunately, they were too busy to notice the tension in his face, the anger that had darkened his clear blue eyes, or the way he now gripped the side of the ship as though he would tear her apart, piece by piece.

All that time spent thatching the roof of Hannah's house—all those candid words exchanged between them—and yet she had failed to mention that she was being courted by that foppish dandy! Apparently a young seaman, even the captain's son, was not worthy enough to merit an honest, face-to-face explanation in plain English. No, she had to make him look foolish in front of her aunt and uncle, and in front of Ashby himself.

She had confessed to being lonely in Wethersfield, and Nat became _concerned_ for her. He had even told her about that stupid bird he saw so long ago, that she had reminded him of it. What a joke it was—what a fool she must have thought him then—when all the while Ashby had been making preparations for a new house, the grandest Wethersfield would see for many a year to come! Surely she was pleased with herself that day, leading him back to her family and showing off her new acquisition to his face. Why did he not realize before?

Well, he could certainly stop worrying _now _about how she would get along in Connecticut. The next time they came to dock in Wethersfield, he had to make sure he extended his congratulations to her in person.


	8. Chapter 8

Once again, the men were keeping a little distance between themselves and their captain's son. He had recovered from his dark mood after they left New Orleans, but their stop in Boston seemed to renew it. Not even Caleb or Gabe, by far his closest friends, knew the cause; Nat preferred it that way. His father, of course, sensed something was amiss, but could not spare the time or effort needed to wrest it out of him. The one person who noticed the change in Nat, and tried to divulge the reason, was his mother, when they stopped in Saybrook, but he was unresponsive to her gentle prods for information.

Docking at Wethersfield, Nat's face became a cold, rigid mask as he prepared for a confrontation. Inside, however, his heart was in his throat, and his stomach somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles; he heard a rushing in his ears that came from neither wind nor waves. He looked out at the faces of the people who had begun to gather at the harbor, and before long he found the one he had been watching for—and dreading. Kit Tyler, standing with her dark-haired cousin, stared straight at him. Instinctively he lifted his hand in acknowledgement, but quickly dropped it, realizing what he was doing.

He saw several of the men carrying the precious crates full of glass. A muscle tensed in his jaw, and he wanted to leap down and shove the things into the water. Instead, he could only hope that every pane had shattered—without his father receiving too much trouble for a ruined cargo. Bitterly he wondered if Kit was here to inspect the goods herself. But when his eyes returned to where he had seen her, she was still there, beside her cousin, glancing halfheartedly at the activity around them.

By the time most of the crowd had dissolved, a servant came and carted away the window panes. Kit had not even glanced at them. _Too high and mighty_, Nat surmised, _to care about such trivial things as costly glass windows for her future house_.

_Careful,_ he warned himself. _You still need a favor from her_. _Best not to get too_ _angry_…_yet_. The wind was fresh, and his father in a hurry, so Nat would not himself be able to take Hannah the woolen cloth he had obtained for her. A good thing, too, for she certainly would notice Nat's sour mood and submit him to blatant questioning.

He noticed Kit and her cousin turn to leave, looking bored, and knew he could no longer delay. Seizing the small package, he leapt to the dock and dashed toward them.

"A moment, Mistress Tyler!" he called out. Kit stopped and looked at him as though she had expected his call. Her smile was tranquil, and her eyes shone, as though she had not a care in the world—as though she had not concealed crucial information from him. Her cousin, however, appeared annoyed and suspicious.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Wood," he said before turning back to Kit. "Forgive the interruption, but I'd be most obliged if you would deliver this for me." The words came out even more aloof than he had intended.

She frowned as she took the wrapped cloth from him. "What is it?"

"'Tis some cloth from Boston I managed to get for Hannah." His heart pounded, but he knew it had nothing to do with his brief sprint.

"Surely you want to take it yourself," Kit said, sounding disappointed. "She'll be eager to see you." No, not disappointed—why would she be? Perhaps she did not want to do it, did not want to spare the time to visit the poor woman.

"I know," Nat replied, "but we'll be here for days if we lose this good wind. Can't risk it, not with winter coming on so soon, and having to go back to the Indies until spring." He was satisfied to see a shadow of envy darken her eyes for a moment. "Of course," he added, "if you can't spare the time away from the elegant company you've been keeping, you have only to say the word."

"What?" Kit asked, apparently trying to feign confusion.

"Don't pretend, Kit," Nat said, no longer able to keep his voice calm and indifferent. Indeed, a slight tremble to his words betrayed the emotion behind them. "I saw them come aboard myself. In Boston, we loaded sixteen diamond-paned windows from England aboard. Do you mean you don't know what they're for?"

"No, I don't," Kit said, growing defensive. Her cousin seemed particularly aggravated by this reply, and turned away with an impatient snort.

"The purchaser," Nat explained, unable to keep the resentment out of his voice, "was one William Ashby of Wethersfield, and the windows are for the grand new house he's building for his bride-to-be." The color draining from Kit's face was as good as a confession. "As I hear it, she's an uppity young lady come all the way from Barbados, and would hardly deign to allow common oiled paper in the windows of _her _house."

Still Kit said nothing, though she was clearly horrified. Nat leaned just a little closer, dropping his tone so only she could hear. "You could have said something about it, you know."

"I had nothing to say. Nothing's been decided. It…it is not certain."

"Such a purchase seems certain enough." He wanted to hear, from her own lips, that she was going to marry William Ashby. He would not demand it from her, but he had to hear it, had to know for sure. But a swift, heavy flush had replaced Kit's pallor, and still she said nothing. At last he stood up straight and squared his shoulders, his voice chilled once again. "Well, then, allow me to congratulate you on such a noble achievement. Rather ridiculous, then, for me to have _worried_ about that little bird. I thought the crows would prey on her, but she's become quite a predator herself, hasn't she?"

He turned on his heel and stormed back toward the ship, leaving behind Kit, her cousin, and Hannah's cloth. A lingering villager asked him a question as he passed, but he ignored the man and kept going. Nat felt the blood pounding in his head; his vision swam before him. Looking nowhere but forward, he boarded the ship and fiercely attacked the various tasks he had to complete before they could set sail.

"Slow down, Nat!" Caleb said, reaching out to snatch a length of rope out of Nat's hands. Nat glared venomously, but Caleb did not back down, even at the sight of his mate's flashing eyes and livid flush. "Belay that, man. D'you want to rip her to pieces?"

Nat blinked and looked at Caleb as though he had just noticed him. "What?"

"What happened? You were well enough when we docked, but now you look…" He laughed dryly. "Did some fool mock the ship to your face?" he asked, hoping to tease Nat into finally telling him something.

Again Nat shook his head. "I've had enough of this place. I just want to get out of here."

"Well, then, you'll have to pry the captain out of that tavern. There's a great deal of news to find out today, and he's getting his fill before we set off. Governor Andros is to arrive from Boston in a few days, and the town is in an uproar. Afraid Connecticut is going the way of Rhode Island, as I hear."

Had Nat been in a better mood, he would have been interested to hear about it. All he could think about at that moment was the beautiful house William Ashby was building, and how frustrated he was that he cared at all.

Contrary to Caleb's remark, Captain Eaton did not spend much more time gathering information on current events in Connecticut. The _Dolphin _was ready to set forth in a short time, much to Nat's relief. He took a deep breath of crisp autumn air and, with the breeze cooling his heated face, thought his concerns would be left behind in Wethersfield, pushed from his mind with the busyness of sailing. Unfortunately, the activity was as short-lived as the winds. Barely a mile from Wethersfield, the air lost all motivation, and the _Dolphin _was becalmed.

The limp sails and lazy sway of an idle ship sickened Nat like never before. Now, he had too much time to think about everything that had happened. Had they been blessed with brisk winds, he might have been too busy with his duties to concern himself with Kit, William Ashby, and those damned windows.

But think about it was all he could do, as much as he tried to avoid it. William Ashby! Nat knew almost nothing about him, but he hated him all the same. Kit must have met enough foppish young men just like him in Barbados among the august company and social circle of her grandfather, Sir Francis Tyler. But if that's who she preferred, what was that to him?

Nat had begun to believe that he had been wrong about her from the start. She had been adjusting to life in Connecticut quite nicely—thatching a roof, teaching children to read, getting calluses on her fingers. But she had only been biding her time, keeping an eye out for something better. She really _was_ every bit as grand and haughty as he had first considered her. Well, then, if William Ashby was prepared to spend an extravagant amount of money on windows—_sixteen _of them!—because he had been foolish enough to fall in love, then they deserved each other.

At least Nat would no longer have to worry about keeping his promise to his mother. Kit had someone else to watch out for her now, and he could wash his hands of her. With that last realization, he was finally able to put her from his mind, as best he could.

* * *

The next day, and the next, slipped by in indolent quietness on the _Dolphin_. Nat and the rest of the crew were ready to go mad with the inactivity, but Captain Eaton remained certain that the winds were soon to change. Nat was unwilling to criticize his father's choice, but sitting on deck in the afternoon with a few of the men, he could not help but share in their grumbling.

"You know," one of the men spoke up after a while, "I just remembered that tonight is All Hallows Eve."

"A pity we're not in town for it," Gabe said.

Tom chuckled. "Wish we were in Boston or New Orleans right now, eh?" He looked back toward the harbor they had left days ago. "Do they celebrate it in Wethersfield, do you think?"

"You must be joking," Caleb laughed. "Goblins and witches flying around _that _place? Trust me, they haven't a chance against its Puritan godliness. I can only imagine what my sister would do if something like that happened there."

The old mischievous grin came back to Nat's face. "Maybe it's time the spirits and imps returned for a little visit," he said.

At the prospect of causing trouble, Tom's eyes brightened, and Gabe sat up straighter, their attention fixed on their captain's son. "What did these imps have in mind?" Gabe asked.

"Help me row back to Wethersfield," Nat said, "and we can plan it out when we get there."

He _did _have one idea, but he would not share it—not until he had gathered a few more men, lowered the boat into the water, rowed as quietly as possible, and finally reached Wethersfield. Astonishingly enough, it was all done without Captain Eaton's notice. By the time Nat, Gabe, Caleb, Tom, and two other younger sailors reached the shore, dusk was falling over the town, and the good citizens had entered their homes for the night.

Nat held his lantern high and did not bother to suppress his wide smile. Their behavior was wicked and childish, perhaps—but what else could you expect from a rowdy bunch of rivermen?


	9. Chapter 9

None of the young men would admit how eerie they found Wethersfield in the dead of night. It was indeed the witching hour; not even the glimmer of a single candle was to be seen from any window. The thick mist that had settled over the town distorted what little light the thin and waning moon afforded, completing the haunted effect. As they waded ashore, the individuals that comprised this small group had never been quieter in each other's company.

"Well," Tom said softly, "I can't speak for you fellows, but I could use a little more light!"

His words seemed to break the spell, and their tension collapsed into stifled laughter.

"It's not All Hallows Eve without Jack-o-lanterns!" Gabe said.

"I know where there's a pumpkin patch," Caleb said excitedly, brandishing the small knife he always kept with him. "It's close to my sister's house. The owners won't miss a few."

"Who cares if they do?" Tom said, shrugging. "They'll think the spirits took them." The men chuckled in agreement at his remark, and he added, "Well, then, lead on!"

They headed toward the pumpkin patch, keeping quiet until they could unleash the full force of their mischief. On the way, Nat caught up with Caleb and spoke to him in a low tone.

"Do you happen to know where William Ashby would be building that new house?" he asked Caleb. For all the times Nat had been in Wethersfield, he was not sure where the Ashbys' unbroken property had lain. Until recently, only events that directly affected Hannah were the ones that interested him.

"More north-east," Caleb said, "the opposite direction of where we are going now."

"Perfect," Nat said, grinning. "We can give the good people of Wethersfield a little pageant as we go from one side of town to the other." He turned back to the rest of the group; half-whispering, half-calling, he said, "Come on, men. Let's make the most of it!"

As they came nearer to the pumpkin patch, Caleb grew bolder and more certain, except the brief moment when they passed his sister's house. Reaching the field, the men fell to the crop, gouging and carving the pumpkins with perhaps a little more gusto than was necessary. Finally, their hands sticky with orange viscera, every sailor had at least one pumpkin emptied, each whittled face more gruesome than the last.

Gabe had pocketed a few candles from the ship, anticipating the activity. Now, he lit them with the flame from their single lantern. Others gathered dried grass and sticks and built up a small fire inside the gourd, creating a particularly sinister effect. Looking around, Nat shivered involuntarily at the Jack-o-lanterns, and the otherworldly appearance the mist and firelight gave to his companions' faces. For the first time that evening, he felt a niggling uncertainty that, despite the flippant nature of their misbehavior, it would have drastic consequences. But if they _were_caught, the sailors could be gone and back on the _Dolphin_before anyone knew who they were.

Taking a deep breath, Nat hoisted up his pumpkin. "Ready? Lead us again, Caleb—tonight all of Wethersfield will know that the spirits are at hand!"

Jack, a younger, normally quieter sailor, startled them all by being the first to burst into a raucous song as they tramped along the road with their vegetable torches. Laughing, Tom quickly followed suit, and then the rest of them joined in. Nat noticed several lights appearing in a few windows along the way, and knew they were waking up the entire community. He only laughed and sang louder. When the song ended, Nat was the one to introduce another, its lyrics far too vulgar for anything but a sailing ship.

In the middle of the song, Caleb suddenly stopped. "There!" he said, pointing, never slacking his pace. "There's the famous house, Nat."

Through the mist, Nat could just make it out, obviously one of the biggest houses in town. Though still unfinished, it was already an impressive structure—sturdy clapboard, a broad door, and, of course, sixteen empty window frames. Astonished, Nat stopped in his tracks, but when Gabe bumped into him, he resumed his stride. Beside him, Caleb gave a low whistle.

"What a house!" He lifted his Jack-o-lantern to try to see it a little better. "Quite a stylish one, that Mister Ashby."

"I think that the ghosts and witches around here would object to such wanton extravagance," Nat said, his voice raised so the others could hear him, "don't you?"

"Yes—we'd better keep them away!" Tom shouted in mock concern, though he never suppressed his smile. Forestalling Nat's idea, he ran up and set his Jack-o-lantern in one of the window frames. The others followed suit, laughing and lapsing in and out of song. The days and weeks cooped up on the ship had stored up all their energy; now that they were permitted to run and shout, there seemed no end to their gusto.

"That won't keep _all _the witches out!" Gabe said, pretending, like Tom, to be deeply concerned. "What about the one who's going to live here, eh?" He laughed, joined by those who remembered Kit only as the spoiled child who could float in water.

Nat forced himself to chuckle, though his heart wasn't in it.

"Would _you _come to live here," Tom asked, "if you saw these things welcoming you?"

"I wouldn't _spit _in a house like this," Gabe said, sneering. "Serves him right for putting on airs. Let that little brat have her comfort, and hope the roof comes crashing down on their wedding night!"

"Oh, bloody _hell_," Caleb said, his voice rising an octave. "The constable!"

His body going cold, his stomach plummeting, Nat turned and looked in the direction toward which Caleb was staring. Three stern-looking men were tramping resolutely through the mist, and Nat could see that at least one of them—if not all—had a musket. The jollity had vanished, and panic reigned.

"_Get out of here!_" Tom shouted, also spotting the newcomers. Gabe grabbed Nat's arm to pull him away. The constable and his assistants were faster than they seemed, and they caught Caleb first.

"Go on!" he shouted, but Nat stopped, shaking off Gabe's grip.

He faltered, torn between self-preservation and a sense of responsibility. He had started this game; it was his idea. Now Caleb was going to be punished for what five others had also done. His pulse racing, a part of his mind screamed at him—along with Gabe—to get away and save himself from a harsh reprimand. In an instant, he saw his father's expression if, in the morning, they were one crew member short.

"Tom and the others have already gone!" Gabe shouted. "Nat, let's _go!_"

But Nat's hesitation cost both of them their escape. At the last minute, they instinctively turned to flee; it was already too late. Nat struggled only a little against the constable when the man grabbed him, knowing it would be pointless. Drag their heels though they might, the fact remained that the constable and his men had several firearms, while Nat, Caleb, and Gabe were equipped with only a few small knives. When the last man snatched Gabe, however, the sailor lashed out in a fit of temper that suited his head of fiery red hair.

"Gabe, for heaven's sake, stop it!" Nat said. In spite of the situation, his friend's ferocity amused him.

"Be silent!" the constable barked, giving Nat a hearty shake as he bound him by the wrists.

Gabe continued to struggle. "Get away from me, you filthy—"

"Damn it, Gabe, _shut up_," Nat shouted, "or they'll shoot you!"

A small group had begun to gather at the edge of the Ashby property, one member being William himself. As the troublemakers were turned around and marched toward an unknown fate, Nat twisted his neck to get a good look at the young man. In the light of the Jack-o-lanterns, he saw on William's face such an unsightly expression of disgust and shattered pride, that it made the entire situation well worth it. For the rest of their march, Nat could not suppress his usual smile.

Gabe muttered several unintelligible obscenities under his breath as the men led the sailors toward the constable's shed. Caleb remained silent; when they passed his sister's house, he looked away as though she stood at the threshold. The entire time, the three law keepers admonished them fiercely for their behavior.

"Theft—vandalism—trespassing—disturbance—blasphemy!" the constable raged. "It's the stocks on Lecture Day for you boys, and the inside of my shed until then!"

"How _dare_ you insult one of our most upstanding citizens," another spoke up. "You'll never be allowed into the boundaries of Wethersfield again."

"Vile criminals," the third muttered, "disturbing the sleep of peaceful, God-fearing people in times like these. Whipping is too good for ye."

"I suppose it's the fires of Hell for us, then?" Gabe asked, his rage cooling into something like haughty bitterness. His captor rewarded him with a sharp rap upside the head.

"You think this is a matter to be taken lightly?" the constable asked. "Do you think Almighty God finds it amusing, what you have done?"

None of them answered, and he might have mistaken their silence for remorse. To himself, Nat could not help thinking that the good Lord_was _a little entertained by their prank. After all, His Son had been born in a stable. Surely the Almighty considered William Ashby's ostentatious house just as ridiculous as Nat and his comrades did.

At last they reached the constable's house, and the shed a little ways beyond. They shoved the three seamen roughly into the small structure that served as a jail, locking it securely.

"Settle in," one of them growled from the liberated side of the door. "Lecture Day is two days away—it's just now Tuesday. Any attempt to escape punishment will fail, and only make things worse for you all."

But the men of the _Dolphin_ were well accustomed to justice and the penalties of misbehavior. When the constable and his men had left, Nat worked his brain to imagine all the possibilities that awaited them on Thursday. He came up with nothing worse than what he would face when they returned to the _Dolphin_. Suddenly, two days in this shed did not seem so bad after all.

"I suppose we'd best hope that the ship stays becalmed," Gabe was saying, "else your father will just go on without us."

Despite the situation, Nat could not help laughing. He could imagine his father doing just that. "We'll have to stay here for weeks, until they come back, ready to set off for the Indies."

"I don't suppose so, really," Gabe said. "No…not with the three best crew members stuck ashore!"

"At least the others managed to get away, and the entire ship will know what happened by morning." Nat grinned, imagining the jealous looks from a few of the sailors who had missed out on the fun. Then he thought of his father's reaction, and the smile faded quickly.

"If they can find their way back," Gabe pointed out. "You know Tom is as stupid as—"

He stopped. Both men looked at Caleb as if for the first time. He had remained silent since their capture, and sat on the filthy, straw-covered floor with his face turned to the wall. Even in the darkness, they could sense his silent rage. Nat's own mood had lightened ever since he spied the confused repugnance on William Ashby's face. He tried to console Caleb.

"Here now, mate, it isn't so bad. They won't hang us for this first offense."

"It's all very well for _you_," Caleb finally said. "You can go back to the ship and forget it ever happened."

"So can you, once it's all over."

"Did you not hear what they said?" Caleb's voice rose as he turned and looked directly at Nat. "We could be banished from Wethersfield! You're from Saybrook, Nat, and Gabe is from God only knows where, but I have kin in this town. I may never see my sister again."

Nat was silent, trying to supply the right words.

"I never should have agreed to this idiocy."

"Belay that, Caleb," Gabe said without a particle of mercy. "You've lived in the Colonies long enough—what did you expect?"

Caleb's only response was to frown and wrinkle his brow, as though resisting every second they spent in that room. Gabe turned to glare at Nat, silently entreating him to say something to bolster their shipmate's courage. Nat only shrugged and hunkered down beside him, his back against the wall, to wait out the long, cold two days.


	10. Chapter 10

Nat was not used to being in such dark, close quarters for so long. When the Dolphin was becalmed on the river in the summertime, there had been plenty to do above decks still, in the sun and fresh air. If nothing else, there was always swimming. When storms rocked the little vessel out on the open sea, he braved the elements with the rest of the crew to make sure the ship stayed on course and the cargo remained secure. Sitting with Caleb and Gabriel in the constable's shed, Nat was a little afraid of losing his mind.

Gabe took the opportunity to sleep as much as he wanted. Caleb said little for two days, rejecting the thin gruel that the constable's wife offered them. After being told that the three of them were to be placed in the stocks for five hours, Gabe tried to persuade him to eat to keep up his strength. When he still refused, Gabe shrugged and helped himself to Caleb's portion.

"Five hours in the stocks sounds like a holiday compared to two days in this crate," Nat said, leaning against one wall with his head tilted back, staring at the low ceiling. By now, he no longer cared what his father might do to him when they returned to the Dolphin. All he wanted was to be back on that ship. Even the threat of banishment from Wethersfield did not matter; after more than ten years, Nat had discovered every possible route to Hannah's, no matter how hidden or roundabout.

At about noon on Thursday, all three heads lifted at the sound of the rattling lock. The constable was there, of course, with his two cohorts, plus an additional man to help keep the ruffians from making a last, desperate bid for freedom. They marched along High Street toward the Meeting House, blinking and squinting in the bright autumn sunlight, which they had not seen for more than two days.

A few onlookers with extra time to spare loitered outside, watching as the law-abiding men lifted the heavy top half of the wooden stocks. As he bent forward and rested his tanned neck in the groove cut out for it, his wrists secured at either side, Nat wondered if this was what it felt like on the executioner's block. One of the men slid the top half back down over him, locking it in place and trapping him, and proceeded to do the same to his ankles. He heard several grunts and the sound of thudding wood and knew his mates were similarly situated. Already the wood felt as if it were cutting into his wrists. It took several minutes of experimenting before he figured out how best to turn his head to see his fellow prisoners, and to watch those who gathered to observe the punishment.

Several good citizens jeered and tossed weak insults at them. At first Nat only rolled his eyes at their sad attempts at wit, while Gabe traded mockery and curses with the public immediately. As Lecture time drew nearer, the number of lookers-on increased. Caleb retained his mood of lethargic melancholy and said nothing to any of them. One or two people recognized Caleb and called out to him, but he stayed silent, pretending not to hear or recognize them.

Suddenly, something cold and wet hit Nat on the side of his face, splattering against his skin and the wooden board. A group of younger boys, none of them older than twelve or thirteen, erupted in laughter. One of them, his hands already filthy, crouched down to scoop up another handful of mud. Nat finally let go of his resolve and let his tongue lash out at them. The rest of the people chuckled their approval.

"I've some breakfast for you if you're hungry!" another boy called out.

An apple core flew through the air and bounced off Nat's forehead, sending shooting pain through his skull. The boy laughed with triumph, applauded by the others. Forgetting who had thrown it, Nat retaliated with a string of insults that would have charred the ears of any one of his shipmates. They brought cheers from most of the gathering, but sent the boy fleeing in tears.

"Careful what you say in front of a lady!" a man called from the rear of the crowd.

The noise all but disappeared at the knowledge that a woman was among them. Somehow Nat already knew, before he craned his neck uncomfortably, that it would be Kit standing there, observing him in this undignified situation. Other heads turned, and the small crowd dispersed rather quickly, her presence a rain cloud on their cheerful sport. Yes, it was Kit who stepped from her half-hiding place in a clump of trees and hesitantly approached the stocks. Nat purposely set his face to betray no emotion, but Gabe was glaring at her spitefully, as if it was her fault that they were there.

Nat had not intended to speak first, but he saw that her eyes had begun to fill with tears. A baffling mixture of sentiments knotted up in his chest, and he found he could not face her pity with any kind of indifference. He summoned frustration to the forefront of his emotions.

"Kit, get away from here!" he whispered loudly. "For goodness' sake, you can't be seen alone in this place."

But she only came closer. For the first time, Nat was unable to get away from her if he wanted, and the reality of this was grating. He had always been able to escape her somehow—if he realized he had grown too friendly, or her arrogance was unbearable—and the fact that he could not this time made him more defensive. Seeing her standing there, he began to feel foolish for what he had done, and hating that she had to see him in such a helpless state.

"Oh, Nat, it's too awful." she moaned. "Surely you don't deserve this, do you? I can't stand to see you this way!"

"As a matter of fact, I am very well," he said, though his gritted teeth probably told the opposite. "I've slept in ships' quarters that were more stifling. 'Tis nothing worth your sympathies."

"Can I do something for you? Do you want anything to eat?"

Nat felt the heat building up in his face. Why was she offering him help? Obviously she was not aware of the specific crime. If she had, surely she would be berating him for what he and his crew members had done, and not demonstrating such pity. When she went up to the Meeting House, though, she would see the offense clearly written out and posted on the door.

But then…she had known that he was here, so she must have heard what they had done to her future home. Why had she not said anything about it before? Presumably she had meant only to see if he was all right—but he could not consider such a possibility. She might have come to mock at his condition, but why the tears?

"Don't waste your pity on me," he said. "For a second look at Sir William's face the other night, I would stand here another five hours. The whole affair was well worth the trouble."

Satisfied, he watched her turn away in a huff, flouncing toward the Meeting House. By turning his neck a certain angle, he could just see her stopping to read the crime and its sentence at the door. He waited for the axe to fall, but she did not react as he had expected. He saw no shock of understanding, no gape of indignation. In fact, her shoulders drooped with defeat, a stance he had seen her take before, and he felt strangely sickened. Without another glance at him, she gathered her petticoats and ran away, surprising even him.

Watching her flee, Nat completely forgot about his compatriots. Until Gabe spoke up.

"What was that?" he asked derisively.

"I cannot tell you," Nat replied, forcing his voice into a neutral tone.

"I always thought she was a strange one."

"Yes." Nat continued looking in the direction Kit had fled, though she was long gone from sight. "Strange, indeed."

* * *

Kit was not the only visitor to come closer to the prisoners, nor the most feminine. Caleb's sister, Chastity, and her husband only cast a few shamed glances toward the sailors when they came into the Meeting House at the beginning of Lecture. When it was over, however, they hung back and approached Caleb, Nat, and Gabriel when the crowd had dispersed. Chastity, with her dark curls, gray eyes, and upturned nose, was obviously Caleb's sister, though she had a more delicate build, and was very pretty. After looking over her once, Nat averted his eyes, not wanting to incur the wrath of her burly husband.

"Caleb, what is this?" she said mournfully. "What have you done to yourself?"

"I'm sorry, sister," Caleb said, the first words he had spoken that day. "I lost my head that night."

She sighed. "What are we to do? You've been banished from town—what would our mother think?"

"I would rather not know," he replied, hanging his head downward once again.

"Come now, enough of this," Chastity's husband said, his voice booming. "The boy has been foolish, that is obvious, but I can't imagine he would be one of the masterminds behind it. I would have never believed it of him if I had not seen this punishment with my own eyes." He squinted fiercely at Nat and Gabe. "Did you two induce him to carry out this mischief?"

Nat and Gabe twisted their necks as best they could to glare at Caleb. Nat half expected Caleb to blame the two of them solely for their current circumstances, but Caleb shook his head—as much as the hole cut in the wood would allow him.

"No," he mumbled, "I have not been wrongfully punished. I contributed to my share of the trouble."

"What if I never see you again?" Chastity asked.

"Come to the harbor when the Dolphin docks," Gabe spoke up, "and he'll wave at you from the deck."

"Oh, Caleb!" Chastity moaned.

"Well, then," her husband said sternly, "you must accept your punishment without complaint. It was a grievous and childish act. The Ashby family is well-respected in Wethersfield, and has done nothing to deserve such vandalism."

"Yes, sir," Caleb muttered, not without a little bitterness, "I heartily regret it."

"Good man." He placed a hand at his wife's elbow. "Let us leave this place, my dear."

Tears in her eyes, Chastity stepped forward and kissed Caleb's dirty cheek. "I pray that God allows our paths to cross again, dear brother—in happier circumstances." She bowed her head as her husband led her away from the stocks.

Out of respect, Nat had averted his eyes from the scene, pretending to be fascinated by a couple of wandering chickens. Now, he turned back and saw Caleb glaring at him with eyes like thunderclouds. He was in no mood to be berated yet again for leading them into mischief. Lecture was over—they had only one more hour to endure punishment.

Unfortunately, that last hour was also the longest. Another idle crowd eventually gathered to taunt them, though less enthusiastic and fewer in numbers than before. Aching all over from their unnatural positions, Nat, Caleb, and Gabe were not the source of entertainment they had been earlier that day. That did not stop several boys from resuming the earlier sport of throwing mud, insults, and even a few pebbles. When the now-familiar faces of the constable and his men appeared, Nat had to steel himself against appearing too relieved.

A few cheers went up when they unlocked the three rivermen and led them toward the harbor. Nat's back was stiff, his wrists rubbed raw from the wooden boards, and his head pounded from being out in the afternoon sun, even in its autumn weakness. Besides that, his face was streaked with dried mud and bruised from that well-aimed apple core, and he was sure that a stone had left a small cut on his cheek. He glanced at his companions, who seemed to be in the same state. Despite Caleb's distress over their banishment, he seemed relieved to be leaving.

"Go on, get out of here!" one boy called after them.

"Good riddance!" yelled another.

The shouts and jeers persisted, with increasing weakness, as they were walked down to the docks. Nat felt a weight abandon his shoulders when he saw a boat waiting for them, with Tom and Jedidiah inside, ready to row them back to the Dolphin.

"Remember the punishment if you're found within the town limits again," the constable growled, poking the butt of his musket into Nat's back.

Nat, Gabe, and Caleb climbed wordlessly into the boat. The other two Dolphin men seemed to recognize their need for silence. Even Tom said little as they rowed back to the ship. Nat watched the trees along the riverside, but their branches barely moved. Hardly any wind was blowing.

After another bend in the river, the weather-stained sails and barnacle-covered hull of the Dolphin greeted them. Nat's spirits rose; although he knew a severe whipping awaited him at his father's hand, he was home.

"We told everyone about it," Tom said as they pulled closer. "Most of 'em say we're heroes." He grinned at Jedidiah. "I'm sorry the three of you were punished while we got away. But we were able to tell 'em about it, and sneak back to town long enough to find out your punishment. Otherwise, you might've been left behind 'til we came back on our way to the Indies."

Nat ignored him. The boat bumped against the Dolphin's flank and several heads emerged above them, peering over the side. Laughter and cheerful shouts drifted down to the water. Nat was the last of the three to climb up and step onto the deck. Most of the crew had gathered to greet them, and sent up a cheer when they were all aboard. Once again, they were on public display, though for different reasons and with far different reactions.

"Thought you'd be stoned to death, Nat!" one of them said.

"Good lord, you're a mess. What does the other fellow look like?"

"That'll teach you not to sing in the streets again!"

Several stepped forward and slapped Nat and the other two on the back, and a few even congratulated him. He tried to smile, but found the whole situation much less amusing than they did. Gabe joined in the revelry, while Caleb looked as though he wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened.

"About your work now!"

The shout pierced through the frivolity, silencing the entire crew. Captain Eaton stood a few feet from the other men, his hands clasped behind his back. Even at a distance, Nat saw the tension in his jaw. His stomach sinking with dread, Nat knew he now had to accept whatever additional punishment his father would mete out. Shoulders squared and chin level, he approached the captain with every scrap of dignity that remained within him.

His father's face was slightly flushed, doubtless from the effort of reining in his powerful anger. Not only his jaw, but every muscle in his body seemed to be taut. He did not watch his son as he came forward, but instead looked out over the river. Nat thought he had never seen his father so dignified. With his head held high and his back perfectly straight, he looked more like the captain of a fighting ship than a trading vessel.

"Father," Nat said wearily.

At last, the older man's gaze swept back to his son. Captain Eaton's blue eyes, not even an inch higher than his son's, held every emotion that he denied the rest of his body. In them, Nat clearly saw grief, fatigue, and—undoubtedly the worst of all—shame and disappointment. For several long moments, the two men held each other's gaze. Nat's dread increased with every second that passed, but he dared not utter another sound.

"Go back to work, Nathaniel," the captain said, in a voice that chilled Nat's blood.

Nat closed his eyes and turned away.

A whipping would have been less painful.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

"I don't think we can get to the Indies soon enough," Jack said as they shivered on deck, approaching another small town along the river.

"Has the captain told you why we're making this last run so late in the season?" Gabe asked Nat.

Nat shook his head. In the week since they left Wethersfield, his father had said very little, showing him no preference and treating him like all the other sailors. It was a fitting punishment for his behavior, Nat knew, though he was curious how long it would last. Would Captain Eaton tell his wife, once she had boarded in Saybrook to share their voyage to the Indies, of their son's disgraceful behavior on All Hallows Eve? Perhaps there had been so little gossip in Connecticut that the news of their banishment had already reached Saybrook, though it was unlikely.

"Ah, perhaps a whim," Gabe said. "Or he might think we'll avoid all the hurricanes if we delay."

"It's possible," Nat mumbled as he climbed higher up the mast to tighten a cable.

"Nat!" Jedidiah stood below him, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, "Captain wishes to see you below decks!"

As Nat climbed down, he caught a better-you-than-me glance from Gabe, but ignored it. Landing nimbly on his feet, he dusted off his breeches and quickly ran a hand through his hair. He knew whatever his father had to say would not be complimentary, but Nat preferred not to be scolded for his poor appearance. Sadly, there was little that could help him at the moment.

"Father…sir?" he said respectfully, entering his father's presence a few moments later.

The captain was sitting at his shabby desk, looking over his ledger and papers. He raised his head to stare up at his son.

"I have been considering the matter carefully, Nathaniel," he said, his voice level and his expression revealing nothing. "I know you wish to have a trading ship of your own some day."

"Yes, sir," Nat said, feeling his pulse quicken. His mind, always ready, drew up an image of himself on his own little vessel. Free and independent, he would sail wherever he wanted, on the most beautiful little ketch that Boston could offer. The name was all that had to be decided on. He never could decide which he liked best…

"We discussed the possibility of my assisting you in the purchase of a ship next year," the captain was saying, interrupting Nat's sudden daydream. "At least, in the initial payment."

"Sir?" Nat prompted, standing up a little straighter.

"You do realize, Nathaniel," his father went on, "that such a step requires a great amount of responsibility and good sense. I'm afraid that, after your little farce in Wethersfield, I cannot say that I have much confidence in your possession of either."

Nat sucked in his breath, feeling as though he had just been punched in the mouth. "I am so sorry, Father. I know there is no excuse…"

"Ah," Captain Eaton said, standing up from his chair and folding his arms. "But would you demonstrate such heartrending remorse if you had _not _been caught?" Nat was silent. "No, Nathaniel," he went on, "an apology is the best way to start, but it cannot replace a confidence lost. I fear you have much to learn about managing not only a trading vessel, but a life as a grown man."

When his father took that stance and that tone, Nat knew from experience that debating his decision would be futile. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Until I see sufficient evidence that you are ready for a sea captain's life, you will remain on my ship, under _my_ supervision, and abiding by _my_ rules. Any more escapades like that, and you will be made an example of before the entire crew." He raised his eyebrows so very slightly. "Have I made myself understood?"

"Absolutely…sir."

"Then you may go."

Nat turned and left the cabin, somewhat in shock. He would never be rid of the shame of that evening! Why had he not stopped to think before he shared his idiotic idea with shipmates who had so much less to lose? It would be a long time before his father would trust him with anything again. Though Captain Eaton's confidence was difficult to earn, it was easily lost—even by his own son.

Emerging back on deck, Nat ignored the other sailors and moved numbly toward the edge of the ship, looking out over the river. The cold autumn breeze had picked up; they would be in the next town by day's end. Nat could not feel the excitement that usually accompanied such activity. His mind replayed the events of a week ago. He had _known_ what was at stake if he were caught, and he took the risk. Now he understood what was meant by the "folly of youth"! For the life of him, he could not remember why he had thought the gamble was worth it in the first place.

Well, the first thing to be done was to forget about Kit. That was a pleasant enough task—his mind had lingered on her for too long, and look what had happened. It created foolish ideas in his head, leading to disappointment, and because of _that_, he had done one of the stupidest things in his life. Banishment could not keep him from seeing Hannah, of course, but he was more than willing to let it keep him from Kit!

From that very moment, nothing would interfere with his concerns aboard the _Dolphin_. Whatever it took for him to regain his father's confidence, Nat would do five times over. More than anything else, he wanted his own ship. His heart yearned daily for the chance to trade his own wares and sail wherever he wanted—to be self-sufficient and free. How could he have been so quick to throw that chance away? Now, nothing could distract him from what he wanted, or lessen his determination to obtain it. He could not make such an error again.

* * *

As the days passed on the river, each one colder than the last, Nat threw himself into his work. From dawn to dusk, he was single-minded in fulfilling his many responsibilities on the ship. When the men were at leisure, he found other things for them to do, earning more than a few hostile grumbles behind his back. Gabe was the one bold enough to inquire after Nat's changing attitude, and received the response that all the other sailors had assumed—that their punishment in Wethersfield had made Nat realize how inappropriate his behavior had been for a captain's son and first mate. To the men, this meant Nat had lost the sense of fun that had made him so popular. He was never idle, from the ship's stem to her stern. All day, he thought of nothing but the _Dolphin_, his father's favor, and the unmade ship he hoped to own the very next year.

Unfortunately, at night, his thoughts took a very different turn.

Huddled under the blanket in his bunk, swaying with the ship's movement over the water, Nat could not keep his focus as well as when he was physically occupied. Although he tried, he could not prevent his mind from wandering back to Wethersfield, and to Kit.

He hated the idea of William Ashby building a house every bit as proud and elegant as his bride-to-be. Kit had said that nothing was certain, but what man would pay so much to build a house for a woman who had not yet agreed to live in it? Why stake so much when so much was in doubt? Ashby must have been sure of what she would answer, and obviously Kit had done nothing to discourage him. She _was_ quite indignant that day at the stocks, when Nat had commented so snidely about the look on William's face.

And still, Nat wondered, as always, why she had come to see him at all. It was not to mock him and revel in his punishment—she would have accompanied her family to Lecture to accomplish _that_. Instead, she had come furtively. Though Nat had offended her, she fled after reading their sentence. She had offered them food. She had even wept…

_When are you going to stop?_ Nat asked himself. _If not soon, then you'll go mad_. _Forget her, and think about what you_really _want_. _Think about what is important to you, what you can earn_. _Think of the Indies_. _Only a few more weeks, and Mother will be aboard, and we'll all sail for Jamaica_…_or Hispaniola_…_or Barbados_.

But the thought of Barbados reminded him again of Kit, and so he had to think of something else entirely.

It was a long time before he was able to sleep.

* * *

The _Dolphin _and her crew were always able to pick up bits and pieces of gossip at every stop up and down the river. Unfortunately, their latest morsel of news was far from pleasant.

"Ye might want to think about passing Wethersfield," one man said as they unloaded mail into his hands. "There's sickness there."

"Is there," Captain Eaton said, sounding less than concerned. "Is it very bad?"

"Powerful, they say," the man said, a bit too eagerly. It was obvious that the news had already spread in the town and he was grateful for fresh ears to absorb it. "Not a household untouched. Some say it's the Lord's punishment for allowing too much sin in the place. There's a few claim it's witchcraft causing it. No other explanation, really."

Something twitched in Nat's stomach at these words. He turned away to inspect the remaining cargo, but kept listening to the conversation. The man had little else to say about conditions in Wethersfield, but the captain continued to speak with him on other matters. Nat waited as they prepared to sail on, but his father said nothing to him. Soon, his curiosity could hold no longer.

"Will we go 'round Wethersfield, Father?" he asked. A little concern rang in his voice, but Nat told himself that it was all for Hannah's sake, and knew his father would think the same.

Captain Eaton shook his head. "I cannot say. We have a day to decide, if the wind is good. I would hate to deprive anyone of their mail or supplies before winter, but I have no use for a sick crew. I would rather not risk anyone on this ship falling ill, however small that risk may be."

"Perhaps 'tis not as bad as he said," Nat said.

"Perhaps," the captain said. "Maybe the witch will tire of her mischief and heal the town before we arrive." He winked at Nat in a rare moment of levity, but Nat was too anxious about the rumor of witchcraft to appreciate the humor.

Nat well knew the prejudices that existed within Wethersfield. He had warned Kit of them himself, after all. Dear Hannah had long been said to be a witch, though of course they had nothing with which to convict her. Was it possible that the townspeople would accuse her now of witchcraft?

_Surely not_, Nat thought. Who would dare charge a frail old woman with weakening an entire town? They could not do it, Nat was sure. Even if she could—what an idea!—why would she do such a thing? Hannah had lived many years at Blackbird Pond without harming a single soul, barely drawing attention to herself at all.

Many years…

But there was another who had _not_ lived so long in Wethersfield. All his life, Nat could not recall an unnamed illness there, at least not one severe enough that word of it spread up and down the river. It was also the first autumn that Kit had lived there. An outsider, someone different from the rest, who had quickly won the heart of the town's most prosperous bachelor…no, she was not safe from accusations.

In contrast to the previous week, during the next twenty-four hours Nat felt his insides at constant unease within him. He had lived too long on a ship to know what seasickness had felt like, but he imagined it to be similar to what he felt now. Captain Eaton did not again mention if they would pass by Wethersfield, and Nat reckoned that his position with his father was still too precarious to ask him. But as they drew closer to the town, there was little news about the epidemic's progress, and Nat was somewhat less concerned.

_Besides_, he reasoned, _William Ashby would not stand for such a thing as his beloved being accused of witchcraft_. _He has enough influence to ensure her safety_.

Not that he needed to be concerned at all, of course.

* * *

Nat again forced Kit out of his mind in favor of the ship's duties. But one morning, a steady breeze pushing them smoothly through the fog, he felt more restless than usual. The sun was just rising, but it was mercilessly cold on deck where he and Gabe were keeping watch.

"Hopefully the sun will burn away this fog," his shipmate said, glancing all around them.

Nat frowned, looking forward. "Do you smell smoke?" he asked.

"Aye," Gabe answered, squinting ahead of them on the river. "No use in trying to see it through this mist."

Nat didn't answer him. He cocked his head, listening like a hound, sure that he had just seen something—or someone—jump into the water, though it was still too dark to tell what it might be. He dashed to the edge of the ship, and there saw a form in the river, splashing straight toward them. Gabe, close behind him, was the first to find his voice again.

"_Man overboard!_" he bellowed, bringing several hands scurrying on deck. As a few of them readied a boat, Nat stood frozen in place.

"Help me!" a voice called up. "Wait!" His heart nearly stopped.

"A woman!" gasped another sailor. "We're coming, madam! Hold on!" The men worked faster, grasping the ropes and heaving the boat over the side to lower it into the river.

"_I_ will go," Nat said, leaping inside before anyone else offered. "Gabe, come with me."

"How much would you wager it's that high-and-mighty Barbados girl?" Gabe muttered, already irritated at the idea.

"Someone is in trouble. It doesn't matter who she is," Nat said, though he already knew.

It was.

He stared at her, astonished. "Kit, what are you doing here?"

Gabe did nothing to hide his disgust as they pulled Kit from the water and threw a blanket around her shoulders. She was shaking so violently that Nat feared she would tumble back out of the boat. As barely intelligible words poured out of her, he realized that her trembling was only partly due to the frigid water.

"Nat, they came—after Hannah!" she gasped around her tears. "I got her away—they burned her house—everything! I didn't know—but they torched it—destroyed—stole the goats—said it—witchcraft—we waited—Hannah's—ashore—don't know—"

"Kit, calm yourself," he said, grasping her shoulders. Her words finally broke down into nothing, and she sobbed like a child. Without another thought, he took one of her cold hands in his, holding it tightly. "It will be all right," he said, "just tell us where to find her." Twisting to look up at the ship, he called, "Heave to! We're going ashore a moment!" To Gabe, he said, "We have to get Hannah." The redheaded sailor only nodded.

Kit was finally composed enough to speak coherently. "It was awful," she said. "Everyone has been ill, and Judith and Mercy…Mercy tried to help us, but she has been sickest of all. The people tried to get Uncle Matthew to come with them to catch the witch—they blamed it all on Hannah! Nat, how could they think she had anything to do with it, that she would do anything to hurt them?"

"They're mad," he said, gritting his teeth.

"I heard them," Kit went on, "going toward her house. I got to her before they did, and they burned the place while we hid in the trees. They looked for her, and one man came so close, I was sure we'd be caught. I don't know how long we'd been there—'twas all night, it seemed. When I saw the _Dolphin_, I didn't know what else to do. Nat, could you possibly take Hannah with you? I didn't think…"

"You did the right thing," Nat said, ignoring Gabe's curious stare.

"There she is!" Kit said, pointing.

It was only then, when they saw the old woman huddled in the marsh, that Nat realized he was still gripping Kit's hand. He let go quickly, concentrating on Hannah.

"Nat!" she gasped when she saw him wading toward her. But when they caught up to her, it was Kit she reached for. "Where is Thomas? I thought he would be here by now."

"He's not here, Hannah," Nat said brusquely. "You're coming on the _Dolphin_, where you'll be safe."

"Where are we going?" She looked between him and Kit, clinging to Kit as though her life and soul depended completely on the young woman.

"We'll take you to Saybrook, so you can spend the winter there with my grandmother."

Hannah nodded, but a small hesitation as they stepped toward the boat turned into outward defiance. "I cannot go without my cat," she said. "Please Nat, I need to bring her. She hasn't any home, and thee knows her heart will just break without me there."

Nat's throat tightened at the helplessness in her voice. "Certainly," he said, turning away without a pause to march through the foliage.

He stopped at the cottage, horrified at the sight of its smoldering remains. He raked his fingers through his sandy hair. All those bright spring mornings and warm summer evenings spent in the comfort of one small room—gone forever. Nothing remained of the repairs he had made, or the gifts he had given her. A few charred pieces of wood were all that was left of the spinning wheel and the loom. Blackened rocks, the last signs of that welcoming hearth, lay scattered across the grass.

"Nat," said Kit, panting as she hurried to come up beside him, "this is ridiculous! You can't find a cat here in the dark. Have you forgotten that you're banished from town? If they come back and find us, you'll get thirty lashes at the stocks!"

"If Hannah's heart is set on that cat," Nat said, his jaw clenched, "she will _get _her cat!" He paused to take a deep breath. "They destroyed everything else she had—she has a right to have that damned cat." But for the moment, all he could do was stand there and stare, filled with rage at the thoughtless beings that had done this. Desperate and powerless, he kicked at the largest piece of wood he could see. That small action did not help, but instead seemed to speed up the tears that had been building in the back of his eyes.

"Damn them!" he cried out, clenching his fists and pressing them to his forehead. "They should _all _hang!" As though he could see the culprits now, he knelt to pick up a large stone from the ashes and threw it with all his strength into the darkness. Immediately, they heard a rustling in the grass, not far from where it landed.

"There she is," Kit said in a loud whisper. A flash of yellow, and then a resentful meow, and Nat and Kit took off after the feline. Kit reached for her under a bush, and received a defiant scratch on her wrist.

"She's not going without a fight, I suppose," Nat murmured. "Go around to the other side." Forgetting modesty and the frigid air, he removed his shirt to use as a makeshift net. The cat darted out from the bush, but when Kit jumped across her path, she turned around, right into Nat's trap.

"Let's go!" he said, clutching the squirming animal who threatened to rip the cloth into tatters. For a moment, he resented the little beast, but it was worth it when Hannah so gladly received her. The animal calmed in her arms, and Nat almost laughed at the apprehensive expression on Gabe's face. "Come on, then, Kit—Father is about to sail without us."

Kit shook her head, throwing him into confusion. "I just wanted to make sure Hannah was safe."

He sighed, shivering in the water and annoyed at her foolishness. Did she think this was the last of it? She did not know these people. Failing to find the witch they were looking for, they would not stop until they discovered what had happened. If the illness in town did not soon fade away, neither would the suspicions of witchcraft. If word got out somehow that she had helped Hannah escape, Kit would suffer far worse than a day in the stocks.

"You really should come too, Kit," he said, "just until it all calms down. We won't be back up the river until spring. If you come aboard, we can help you find a place to stay in Saybrook, and bring you back on our next trip." He hesitated to give voice to his other idea, but when Kit shook her head again, he knew he had no choice. "Or…you could sail on to the Indies with us."

He knew that last offer struck something deep inside her. She looked up at him, her eyes widening. She swallowed tearfully. Nat relaxed, knowing he had succeeded in convincing her. He stretched out a hand to help her into the boat, but she did not take it.

"I must stay, Nat," she said. "I cannot go with you."

His mouth slowly opened in surprise, and he closed it as he lowered his arm. The relief he had felt a second ago turned back into anger, just as much at himself as at the woman standing before him. How could he have been stupid enough to forget? "Of course," he said coldly. "Do forgive me—I had forgotten you are to be married."

"No, not that," Kit said testily. "'Tis my cousin, Mercy. I cannot go without knowing if she'll be all right. I could not leave them now."

Silenced, he stared at her, realizing how different she seemed from that first day in Saybrook. She had changed so little—dripping wet and trembling from cold, having dove into the water to perform an impulsive act of kindness. Yet the arrogance and defiance was gone from her face…or had they really been there to begin with? Her wide, clear eyes, never concealing a single emotion, were as unguarded as ever; there was not a trace of selfishness in them now. She knew she was losing what might be her last chance to escape from a place she detested, in order to stay for those who needed her.

If he did not turn his back on Kit now and get into the boat, Nat knew he might do something embarrassing. Yet he could not look away from her, and instead took a step closer. He had not realized how much he wanted her to come with them, until she had refused. He had to give her once last chance.

"Kit…"

"What's going on out there?" Tom shouted from the _Dolphin_. "Ahoy! Where are you?"

"Go on, Nat!" Kit gasped. "They'll hear it."

He climbed into the boat at last, but impulsively reached for her hand where the cat had scratched her. "You _will_ be all right? Go home and get warm—"

"Yes, I will," Kit said. "But please hurry!"

"All right," he said, releasing her to pick up an oar. "Let's shove off," he said to Gabe.

As they approached the _Dolphin_, a few of the rivermen waved at them from aboard, but Nat ignored them and twisted around in his seat. Kit was still standing by the shore, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. He could not look away, wondering if this was the last time he would ever see her. Her reasons to stay were noble, but Nat could not help wishing she had come with them. As he lifted a hand in a brief wave, he hoped that the small gesture would convey to her what he was thinking. He mouthed a silent prayer that she would be all right, watched her as she turned away and disappeared into the woods, and wondered why he felt so empty inside.


	12. Chapter 12

"So _that_ is the sweetheart you've been stealing away to in Wethersfield all this time?" Tom asked, grinning.

Nat shook his head, ignoring Tom's wit. He had just settled Hannah and her cat in a passenger's cabin on the _Dolphin_. Back above decks, he blinked in the bright morning sunlight for only a second before his father stormed up to him.

"Nathaniel, what the devil is going on? Why are you bringing strange people aboard?"

Nat started, forgetting that he had done everything without the captain's permission or knowledge. "I'm sorry, Father," he said, "but it happened so quickly. I've just put Hannah Tupper in a cabin, for safety. She was in danger, and Kit Tyler with her. She_has _been accused of putting a spell on the town, and there was nothing else to do but bring her aboard." He paused to let his words sink in. When his father nodded, he added, "I think it would be best if she stayed with Grandmother this winter."

Captain Eaton's face had softened gradually as Nat spoke. "How kind of you."

"'Twas impulsive, I know," Nat said quickly, "but, I think, necessary. After all she's done for me, I could not leave her to those madmen."

Shaking his head, the captain said, "You did the right thing." He clapped a hand on Nat's shoulder. "I think we'll bypass Wethersfield this last trip after all, unless the wind doesn't hold." He paused, frowning in thought. "'Twill look a mite suspicious, but well worth the risk for such a kindhearted woman. She'll be in your care until Saybrook, seeing as there are no other ladies on board to see to her. But you said that Mistress Tyler was there? What happened to her?"

Nat shrugged, clearing his throat. "I extended the invitation to her, as well, since she is in just as much danger. But she said she had to stay…for her cousin's sake. I suppose her family needs her right now."

"Just as well," his father said. "Let us hope she will not do anything too foolish."

"She _is _hasty sometimes," Nat conceded, "but not a fool. Naïve, perhaps." His voice trailed off just a little as he became distracted. After a moment, he caught his father's confused gaze and snapped back to attention. "I will return to my duties, then, sir," he said.

"Is it true, then?" a sleepy-eyed crew member asked him as he came forward on the _Dolphin_. "There's some old woman on board?"

"A friend of my family," Nat said. "She's come into some bad luck, and we're taking her to Saybrook. I expect—that is, the captain expects everyone to treat her with every kindness and courtesy you would show to my…to Mistress Eaton."

As they continued down the river that day, the wind blew more and more slowly. A mile past Wethersfield, it stopped completely, and the ship was becalmed once more. A groan rose up from the crew when the sails fell slack and the _Dolphin_ gave a last, sickly lurch forward. She swayed, almost helplessly, in the cool, still air.

"I suppose we might have stopped in Wethersfield, then," Gabe said to Nat, interrupting him in a silent reverie that afternoon. "At least the ship can drift downriver a little." He chuckled wryly. "We might just make it to Saybrook before next spring."

Nat did not immediately answer him, but squinted up at the sky. The fog of that morning had cleared, and now the sun burned cheerfully down from its course in the sky. Without a breeze, its warmth was almost comfortable. Nat looked back in the direction of Wethersfield. Though the sunlight was bright, it could not alter his apprehension. No amount of work now could distract him from thoughts of Kit.

Her family knew she was friends with Hannah Tupper. Surely others had learned of it, by now. Clenching his jaw, Nat thought of William Ashby that day he had walked Kit home after thatching Hannah's roof. Certainly he would not say or do anything to bring her harm, but Nat could find no comfort in that thought. He could not face the long winter, even in the lush, languid Indies, unaware of what had happened to her. For months he would be reminded of her, and the first day she boarded the _Dolphin_. He would never know if he had left her to her death until next spring.

"I have to go back to Wethersfield," he finally said to Gabe.

The young sailor scoffed. "You must be mad. It's a mile upriver and almost winter here. Do you think the captain will wait for you if the wind picks up again?"

Nat sighed. Only a day ago, he would have preferred to swallow his tongue rather than his pride. He might have preferred death to actually informing Gabe—or anyone else—that he cared an inkling about Kit. But in a single morning, everything had changed, and Nat no longer cared if he had to endure a little teasing. All he wanted was assurance of Kit's safety.

"Gabe," he said, "I just want to be certain that she is all right. I'll never forgive myself if I learn that we had left her to her death." He looked his friend directly in the eye. "And if they accuse her of witchcraft, then I have done just that."

Gabe shrugged. "Do what you think is best. I obviously have no say in the matter."

"Of course, you do," Nat said, grinning. "I just plan to ignore you." He gave him a brisk nod before going below decks to speak to his father.

"You have been banished from the town," Captain Eaton reminded him when Nat had finished presenting his idea and his concerns. "What do you expect you could do for her?"

"Absolutely nothing," Nat said, "if nothing is required."

The captain closed his eyes and sighed. Nat watched him silently as he gave thought to what his son had told him. He had no idea, he realized, what his father would say. Finally Captain Eaton opened his eyes and folded his arms.

"Tomorrow morning," he said slowly. "If we are still becalmed, Nat, you may take the pinnace and row back up to Wethersfield to take a look around. You will stay no longer than is absolutely necessary, and you are not to bring anyone else with you who may be endangered by your foolhardiness. You will be responsible for yourself, and yourself only. If the wind picks up before tomorrow, then you will stay on the ship and make no complaints until Hannah Tupper is safely in Saybrook. Beyond that, I am sorry, but Kit Tyler's fate belongs to God alone. But should you go back, and the wind freshens…" He spread his hands. "We have to make the most of what we receive."

"Very well," Nat said. "Thank you, sir. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go check up on Hannah and see that she is well."

He found her sitting on her bunk, stroking the cat in her lap. She smiled when he knocked and came in, but there was anxiety in the lines of her face that he had never seen before that morning. In her cottage by the pond, she had always seemed so peaceful and sure of everything, while possessing a vitality that defied her years. Here, in a small, dark room, she appeared tiny and pale, and disturbingly out of place.

"I think she's gotten used to the ship's rocking," Hannah said, indicating her pet.

Nat could not help but chuckle "'Tisn't much, Hannah—the ship's becalmed. There isn't any wind at all right now."

"Oh, dear," she said. "What will thee do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing we can do about it, really, not this time of year. But it's common enough on the river. Actually, since we're going nowhere fast, my father has given me permission to go back to Wethersfield and take a look around, find out what happened to Kit."

Hannah's sigh of relief was robust. "Thank God," she said. "Oh, Nat, I have thought of little else since I came on board. Thee must tell me whatever thee finds out. She put herself in such terrible danger for me, and I was too frightened last night to thank her."

"I must also thank her," Nat said. "Were it not for her, we would not have the pleasure of your company on this ship."

"Oh, Nat, thee surely knows how to charm an old woman," Hannah said with a chuckle. After a pause, she sobered, her eyes growing misty. "But it seems wicked…to laugh when dear Kit…"

"You mustn't fret," Nat said, leaning forward to cover her hand with his. "She may be perfectly safe, you know, and you'll have worried over nothing."

The old woman shook her head, closing her eyes. "They will catch her. Nat, I know I must not think ill of them, but I know what could happen to her."

Absently she reached up to brush the scar on her forehead. A brand of witchcraft, a symbol of hate, for years it had ceased to attract Nat's attention. Now it stood out from the wrinkled brow and turned his stomach. A strange heat rose up in his chest as he imagined a similar atrocity done to Kit.

Hannah had lived like a hermit for years, the town pariah, serene and content with her lot. Kit could never endure it; she had too restless a soul, too much passion to stand for wrongdoing. She would speak up and defy them so much that they would be forced to break her with further violence, or even to hang her. The thought of Kit fighting against a hot branding-iron, or cringing under a public lashing, was almost too much to bear—but it was nothing compared to the thought of her with a broken spirit.

"Nat," Hannah said, and he realized he had been gripping her hand too tightly. He released her, murmuring an apology.

She patted his arm. "Thee must find her, Nat, please. See that she is safe and well, and suffers no harm. Her uncle is a selectman—he may be able to save her. But if they know she visited me, it will be only a matter of time…" Her lips trembled with words left unspoken as tears slid down her cheeks. "She is too young. She mustn't suffer as Thomas and I have. Thee will make sure, please?"

His heart beat wildly, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. He wanted to go _now_, instead of waiting for the morning. But he had made an agreement with his father, and Hannah was right—Matthew Wood was a selectman. That, coupled with Kit's betrothal—understanding—whatever it may be—with William Ashby, would surely protect her. At least for now.

Damn this ship! What was once his home had quickly become a prison. He felt so helpless, floating in the water, begging the heavens for the faintest breath of wind. Yet each breeze would only make it more difficult to go back. If only his father had not decided to sail past Wethersfield! Nat could have dodged the crowds and made it to the Woods' house, at least for a moment, to see for himself the effects of that morning. Had it only been the past morning?

His mind swayed and staggered, but at last it rested long enough for him to turn and look at Hannah. He nodded solemnly. "I will do everything within my power. She will come to no harm."

"I thank thee," Hannah said. She smiled a little through her tears. "And thee does it not just for me."

Nat looked away quickly, knowing Hannah had already caught the answer in his eyes. No one on earth had the power to hide a secret from Hannah—or to extract someone else's from her.

"Kit is my friend," he said firmly, standing up. "I would—and have done—the same for you, or any of my shipmates." He smiled at the yellow-eyed animal still in Hannah's lap. "Or for a cat."

She did not take her eyes from his face. "Thee was going back before I had asked thee to."

He paused in his move toward the door. Finally, all he could manage to say was a hoarse "Yes."

* * *

More than ever, Nat needed distraction from his thoughts, at least until the morning. There was hardly anything to do but the simplest of repairs as they waited for a change in the wind. The _Dolphin_ needed a good looking-over, but not in these cold waters, so far from Boston where they were actually capable of performing major renovations. Hopefully the old girl would make it through one last winter in the islands. Perhaps next spring he could afford to commission a builder, and he would have a vessel of his own.

It was the only thing he could think of that would distract him from his plans. But when even sailing failed to divert him, he remembered his father's questioning words: _What do you expect you could do for her?_

Night came at last, and Nat lay on his bunk, wide-awake and praying that morning would come swiftly, and the _Dolphin_ would be no further from Wethersfield. He listened to Caleb and Gabriel's steady breathing, envying them their peace of mind. He had once possessed it, as well, blissfully enmeshed in his little world of sailing and shipmates. Everything had changed now.

_Thank God for Kit_, he thought. He would not have known about Hannah's plight. _Hannah _would not have known. She would have been burned up with her house, or dragged into town and hanged. Shuddering, Nat pulled his blanket tighter around him. Who could do that to an old woman in good conscience? Even if she was a witch—and she was not!—was God Himself not capable of dispensing the proper judgment?

Fury burned steadily inside him, making sleep impossible. The ship swayed, and the hours passed, and finally Nat decided that it was close enough to be morning. But he alone could not put the boat into the water.

"Gabe!" he whispered, shaking the redheaded sailor. The young man groaned and turned over. "Come on, Gabe, wake up!" Finally he punched him in the arm, and Gabe awoke, swearing.

"What the devil do you _want_, Nat?" he asked, sitting up. "It's too early."

"I know," Nat admitted, "but I need your help getting the boat into the water." He turned to repeat the process on Caleb. Though he grumbled with less vulgarity, he was no less irritated to be roused so prematurely. Even so, eventually the two of them followed Nat to the top deck.

"You've completely lost your senses," Caleb said as they readied the pinnace. "Remember the penalty for entering the town limits? Thirty lashes! I don't know what you are thinking, but there is _nothing_ in Wethersfield worth thirty lashes."

"Would you let your sister die, then?" Nat asked. Caleb scowled at him, silenced.

"Then there's the infection you'll get from all those wounds," Gabe added. "Does blood poisoning seem a pretty fate to you, Master Eaton?" He scoffed. "That little princess ain't worth dying for."

"Thank you, Gabe," Nat said tersely. "I have no intention of dying today, and the captain knows where I am going. Thank you for your help, you two—you needn't concern yourselves further." He looked back and forth between them. "I will see you tonight."

Caleb sighed, and Gabe gave him a halfhearted wave. Neither of them seemed to expect him to return to them in one piece. He knew Wethersfield well enough, and the number of places where he could hide. It might not even take until tonight to spy around and find out something. No matter what Solomon's Proverbs instructed, these good Puritans relished their gossip.

The journey upriver took longer than he had expected. A few hours of dozing had not been enough, and the predawn chill seemed to freeze his joints. The sky was cloudless, but the moon was on the wane and there was hardly any light by which to see. At last he came to the harbor, only to realize that docking there was the surest way to be caught. Exhausted, he backtracked, finding a spot among the rushes. Dragging the boat as far ashore as he could, Nat secured it with a length of rope. He eyed it longingly, wanting to stretch out in it and sleep.

Dawn was still a ways away when he reached the edge of town. He sat in a clump of trees to catch his breath and decide what to do. It had been foolish to come so early. No one in Wethersfield was stirring. Before he realized what was happening, he closed his eyes and drifted into oblivion. When he opened them again, the sun had already emerged from the horizon, and he saw that a number of people were out and about.

Nat crept out of the trees and closer to the town square. He shivered at the sight of the constable's shed, where he and Caleb and Gabe had spent several uncomfortable nights. He could not imagine poor Hannah locked up in there, if they had delayed their bloodlust long enough to give her a trial. For one moment, something inside urged him to stop, to approach that loathsome little structure. But now that daylight had come, there was no time to spare.

He managed to conceal himself behind a well behind the general store. When he saw an empty barrel closer to the door, he changed his mind and climbed inside. It was a scant few minutes before his keen ears picked up what he had been waiting for.

"I daresay it's no more than she deserves," a young woman said as she approached the store.

"How wicked of you to say, Thankful," came another feminine voice. "She might still be found innocent."

A lovely, icy laugh responded. "How? She has no one to speak for her but her family, and they never even knew she was consorting with a known witch." The rest of her words were cut off when the door closed behind them.

Had it been a man who spoke instead of a woman, Nat would have forgotten the consequences and leaped from that barrel and throttled him. Trembling with anger, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Kit _was _in trouble! She was awaiting trial, and had no hope. Nat peeked over the rim of the barrel, but ducked down when the shop's door opened.

"—found nothing," a man was saying. "Seems she vanished. And there's no doubt in my mind that it was Matthew Wood's niece who helped her escape. Why else was she untouched by this sickness all over town?"

"But Goodman Wood and his wife were never ill," said his companion.

"Do you think she is innocent?" asked the first man, his tone accusing.

"'Tis not for me to say," the second replied. "The trial is in a few hours, and then we will know. But until then, I see no reason to speculate."

_Dear lord,_ Nat thought, _she's the talk of the town!_

Was there no one who could speak on Kit's behalf? Nat would, but he was already a criminal in the town's eyes and his word not worth a pig's spit. Doubtless her family would speak for her, but she had disobeyed them. Their "evidence" would be pushed aside as carelessness. Who else might be trusted to demonstrate that Kit Tyler had, in fact, brought some good to Wethersfield?

Then it crashed on him like a breaker upon the sand. Of course! How could he have failed to think of it before? As soon as he knew it was safe to do so, he scrambled out of the barrel and ran—as furtively as possible—toward the home of little Prudence Cruff.


	13. Chapter 13

Providence seemed to be with Nat as he approached the Cruff's house. Adam Cruff, of course, was at work in the fields, and as his wife was nowhere in sight, she must have been busy inside. Prudence, however, was tottering out to the well, dragging a bucket too big for her. Praising his good luck, Nat dropped down in the tall brown grasses and crept toward her.

The last time he saw Prudence, Nat had noticed how different she had been from their first meeting. Her cheeks were pink, her smile easy, and her bearing confident and tranquil. Looking at her now, Nat saw how she had reverted back to the Prudence of old—her shoulders slumped, and her eyes were red. There were clean tracks on her dirty face, proof of tears earlier shed.

With one more glance around, Nat emerged from the brush and approached Prudence as she lowered the pail into the well. She gasped when she saw him coming, and her grim expression broke into a smile.

"Nat!" She had the good sense to whisper. "I'm so glad you're here! What are you doing?"

"I heard about Kit," he said, hunkering down and leaning against the well.

Prudence bit her lip. "Hannah is gone."

"She's on my ship, safe and sound." Prudence gasped in delighted relief. She knelt on the ground beside him. "But I wanted to know if Kit was all right," Nat continued, "and I spied around town and heard that she's to be put on trial."

"They think she's a witch, too," Prudence said, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. "Mama and Papa are going to the trial, but I have to stay here. If I'm not here when they get back—"

"Prudence, listen to me," Nat said, laying a hand on her arm. Who knows how much time they had left now! "You are the only one who can help Kit today. Everyone thinks that Hannah is wicked, and that Kit is, too, for being friends with her."

"But it's not true!" A few tears escaped to trickle down her cheeks.

"Of course not. That's why she needs you to come and be a witness at her trial. You can tell them how she's good and kind, and she taught you to read and write. No one who sees you could believe that there is anything evil about her."

She hesitated, then took a deep breath and, in a quavering voice, asked, "Will you come with me?"

"Certainly, and I will stay for as long as you need me, you and Kit. But they won't listen to a thing _I _might have to say. I'm supposed to be banished from Wethersfield. Prudence, will you do this for her?"

"Yes," she said, after hardly any hesitation. "Kit is my friend, and she's not a witch. It's wrong of them to say she is."

"Good girl," Nat said. He looked around again. "Now, here's what we'll do. I'll be around here, waiting. After your mother and father leave the house to go to the trial, wait for me inside. I'll come and fetch you, and we'll walk into town when everyone else is already there."

"_Prudence Cruff!_" her mother's voice screeched from the house. The child went suddenly paler than she had been, and her eyes filled with fear again. "_Where _is that water?"

Nat tried to hide further behind the well as Prudence hurried to pull up the bucket and haul it back to the house. He watched her struggle under its weight, wishing he could carry it for her. Was he doing the right thing in throwing the poor little girl to the wolves this way? She might be too fragile to withstand the questioning and the hatred she would be sure to encounter in that place. But without her, Kit didn't have a chance. He did not know what had become of William Ashby, but his status and his affection had obviously not kept Kit from being arrested on charges of witchcraft. What had become of _him?_

Even as he moved back into the weeds and grasses to wait, Nat knew there was no time to waste in wondering what William Ashby was up to. He could not help, that much was certain, and it was all Nat really needed to know. Any other time, he might have felt smug about being there to help where Kit's betrothed had failed. In the gravity of the situation, such a self-satisfied idea hardly occurred to him at all.

Lying prone on the ground, Nat was just able to see the Cruffs' house from where he waited. He watched it intently, hardly blinking. His eyes burned, his throat went dry, and there was a steady throb of pain in the back of his head by the time he saw the Cruffs leave—without Prudence—and walk in the direction of the meeting-house. When they were finally out of earshot, he darted forth and opened the front door a little.

"Prudence?" he murmured.

She stepped toward him from the interior shadows and looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "I'm ready," she said.

He sighed, relieved to see her courage, and smiled. He held out a hand. "We'd best be on our way, then." Her tiny hand was firm in his.

"What will they ask me?" she inquired as they followed her parents' tracks.

"I don't know. I've never seen a witchcraft trial in Wethersfield before. But I know this, Prudence—you must be very cautious with your words. You must say only what you mean, and mean every word you say."

"Mama said that a few of our neighbors…they're going to tell them about bad things Kit did. But she _didn't _do them! I don't understand how she _could_. Why would she want to hurt Mr. Turner's cows?"

Nat gave the child's hand a reassuring squeeze. "That is just why Kit needs youthere to tell the truth. It'll be all right." In the meantime, Nat prayed in his heart that it was true.

The walk into town took longer than Nat had expected. Prudence wore no shoes, and her bare feet were slower to take steps. Besides which, Nat had to deliberately shorten his stride, as Prudence was having a difficult time in keeping up with him. As he expected, the meeting-house was full, with several good citizens standing at the back. Nat heard a baby cry, and marveled at what dark entertainment this must be for the folks of Wethersfield. Before approaching the door, he stopped to whisper something else to Prudence.

"When it's over," he said, "if they come after me for those lashings I'll have to leave quickly. Be sure and tell Kit good-bye for me if that happens." She merely nodded in reply.

"You must explain to us how the child's name was written in this book," the magistrate's voice carried out of the open door.

Nat stopped again to listen, standing next to those very stocks in which he and his friends had been imprisoned several weeks ago. Weeks…it seemed like years! Nat strained his ears, but heard nothing else. Had Kit no words to speak on her own behalf?

Within moments, others had decided to speak for her.

"She's guilty! There—you see it on her face!"

"The witch ain't good enough for hanging!"

"She's nothing to say for herself."

"She would if she were innocent!"

Heat came into his face, but somehow Nat was able to keep his head cool. With a tighter grip on Prudence's hand—his own clammy—he stepped up to the doorway to speak to the guard. A few of the observers closest to the door noticed their approach, despite the commotion up front. A woman gasped in horror that he had brought a child there. A man came toward the door to shoo him away, looking grimly at Prudence—no doubt aware that she was disobeying her parents and would receive ample punishment.

"Trial's over," the guard said to Nat as he came closer and opened his mouth. "She's guilty enough, that's for sure."

"A moment, please," Nat said. He let go of Prudence's hand, instead placing both of his on her tiny shoulders. "This child has vital evidence for this trial. I suggest you let us in."

Hesitating a moment to scoff, the guard saw how serious Nat was and stepped into the room. The magistrate had just called for silence from the chaos, announcing that the case would be turned over to Hartford. The guard took that moment to speak up.

"Wait!" He gestured to Nat. "I have another witness here."

Prudence and Nat followed him into the stuffy room, the atmosphere humming with fear and hatred, everyone gasping in shock at the sight of them. Nat looked to the front of the room, where Kit stood before Captain Talcott and several other stern-looking men. She slowly turned around, and Nat saw in an instant the agony she had experienced in the past two days—dark, sunken eyes, dirty skirts, and tangled, matted hair spoke all too clearly of a night spent in the constable's shed. Remembering he had passed by it only that morning, Nat felt sickened. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she placed one hand on the table to steady herself. He stared back at her, for the moment forgetting anyone else in that cramped room.

It was only a moment.

A woman's scream rose from the benches.

"Get her out of here!" Goodwife Cruff shrieked, pointing a shaky finger at her daughter. "The witch'll curse her!" She tried to climb past the others seated around her, but the magistrate barked an order for her to stop.

"Nobody will harm the girl here," he said. "Where is the witness?"

Nat bent down to whisper in Prudence's ear, "Remember what I said, all right? Don't be afraid."

Prudence looked up into his face. She wasn't.

He could not help grinning, just a little, as he proudly watched her advance to the front of the room. She seemed indifferent to the loud murmurs of the crowd and immune to the fierce gazes of the town selectmen. But when he glanced again at Kit, he saw her going paler and paler beneath the smudges of dirt and scratches on her face. Once again he was struck with a feeling of crippling helplessness. Was this really all he could do for her? He wanted to seize the musket from the guard's hands and run forward, grab Kit, and take her away from here.

_Another_ fugitive from Wethersfield. Just what Captain Eaton needed to see.

Breaking his thoughts, Kit collapsed to her knees beside the magistrate's table and heaved a gut-wrenching sob.

"Please, sir!" she cried. "Send Prudence away from here! I'm so sorry, I would take everything back if I could. I'll go to Hartford, or the gallows, whatever you want, but please don't make Prudence stay in this awful room!"

Nat did not hear Captain Talcott's reply above the clamor, but it clearly brought Kit no comfort. He began to realize that the sight of Kit here was far more painful than those thirty lashes could possibly be. Standing just inside the doorway—forgotten by all the others—he remained as still as possible.

Under the magistrate's firm questioning, Prudence did not waver. Her back was to the crowd, which had quieted to hear her tiny voice. Nat could not see her face, but Kit's was plainly visible, and she was both terrified and astonished.

"Who is this woman?" the magistrate asked Prudence, pointing at Kit.

"She is my teacher, sir. She taught me to read."

"At the dame school."

"No, I never went there. At Hannah's house, in the meadow."

Goodwife Cruff nearly fainted at this disclosure. Captain Talcott went on.

"Mistress Tyler took you there?"

"Only once, sir. Then I went myself."

Again, Goodwife Cruff saw the need to interject. "So _that's _where the little snake has been slithering off! That woman will _hang_, I'll see to that!"

The magistrate kept questioning Prudence, his tone growing gentler as her mother insisted on speaking out. Nat flushed with indignation when she insisted it was impossible for the child to possess intelligence enough to learn how to write her own name. What did _she _know? Even the child's sorry excuse for a father ventured to say she was none too clever. Nat almost laughed, wondering how such a brave, good-hearted little girl could have come from the union of two people like the Cruffs. Then, he looked once more at Kit, and answered his own question.

The magistrate held out a copy-book, open to a page showing Prudence's many attempts at learning to write, and asked her to try again. Like everyone else there, Nat held his breath and listened to the quill scratch the paper. Unlike Nat, Goodman Cruff could not rein in his curiosity enough to sit still. He got up and peered at the book as Prudence carefully wrote the letters.

"Is that it?" he asked. "Is that her name, written out properly?"

The magistrate and others looked at the paper. Several brows were raised in surprised approval, and they declared that it was, indeed, proper writing. Stunned, Goodman Cruff returned to his seat, and the questioning resumed.

"You say Mistress Tyler taught you to read, as well?" Captain Talcott asked Prudence.

"Yes, sir."

"Witchcraft!" Goodwife Cruff spat out. "Evil spells and recipes for a witch's brew, I wouldn't wonder. The child would go along with it, no doubt!"

The magistrate tossed the woman a withering glance, then looked again at Prudence.

"What can you read, child?" he asked her.

"I…I can read the Bible, sir."

Nat felt a little of the tension go out of him. _Now they would see, and all would be well. Wouldn't it?_

They placed the enormous Bible on the table in front of Prudence, opened it, and indicated where she was to read. As the frail little voice began, Nat could barely hear her from where he was standing. She gained courage, and her words grew louder as she continued, until everyone in the crowd could hear her clearly. Nat smiled to hear the passage they had chosen, from Proverbs 23.

_Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding. The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him._

When he looked at Kit this time, she was staring back at him, her eyes wide and clear. Her pride in what Prudence had done, and her relief, was palpable across the distance. This time, as Nat thought, _It _will _be all right now_, he knew it to be true. Something shifted inside of him, but he could not look away. He hoped and prayed, with all his heart, that Kit would know she was safe.

As Kit looked back at him across the room, Nat felt a connection between them—intangible, but more real than the table beneath Kit's hand, or the breeze that grazed his neck. Suddenly he knew that, even if they set her free, he still wanted Kit back on the _Dolphin_. Alarmed at this sudden revelation from within, Nat looked away, at the same time Kit did.

"Did you hear her?" Goodman Cruff inquired of the assembly, as delighted as a child. "I'd like to see any boy in town do better!"

"It's witchcraft, plain and simple!" his wife insisted.

"Hold your tongue!" he snapped. "Why, you've told me all these years that Prudence hadn't any brains at all. Look at her—she read all that like it was nothing! It's more than I could do." He turned to Kit. "I never had a chance to learn to read myself, and I never thought it much use to a woman. But why not? Seems like a good way to keep her mind on more important things than superstitions and nonsense. Seems strange that the Devil would teach a child to read the Good Book." He was practically glowing at his daughter. "From now on, Prudence will be going to school proper-like! Maybe she can teach _me_."

Prudence smiled shyly at her father, then glanced at Nat. Captain Talcott cleared his throat.

"Am I to understand, Goodman Cruff, that you wish to retract your charges against Mistress Tyler?"

"Certainly."

The magistrate glanced around the room. "And the other accusers?"

No one spoke up. Not a soul moved. Except, of course, for Goodwife Cruff.

"Adam Cruff," she screeched, "have you gone mad? She's bewitched _you_, too!"

When he heard that, there was no use in restraining himself. Nat burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. When the rest of the room followed suit, Goodwife Cruff's face turned a color very much like a turnip. She was not through. As soon as the magistrate declared Kit free and innocent, she gasped and pointed a finger at Nat.

"_Him!_" she hissed. "He's that seaman who was setting houses on fire! I remember him—thirty lashings if he dared to come back!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Nat knew that his time was up. He darted out the door and hid in the first clump of trees he came upon, until his few pursuers had shrugged, shaken their heads, and returned to the meeting-house. He sighed, standing up again and heading toward the riverbank. Prudence would have to say good-bye for him, after all.

As he hurried away, Nat was overwhelmed with a combination of relief and bitter disappointment. A tiny knot in this stomach grew as he approached his hidden pinnace. It would be months before he returned to Wethersfield—if he did at all. He would still be on the _Dolphin_, he would still be banished. There would be no Hannah to visit. She would be nestled safely in Saybrook, while Kit—Kit would be setting up housekeeping under that beautiful gambrel roof.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: You have our sincerest apologies for this long-overdue chapter. Thank you so much for those who continue to read it. Believe us, we have missed it as much as you have. This chapter is short, but important, and though we cannot tell you if the next one will come any less slowly, we CAN promise that this story WILL be finished! So do not trouble yourself with writing reviews that beg us to continue or say that you hope we haven't given up on the story. We have not. But since the last chapter was posted, both authors moved and got new jobs and have been intensely busy. One of them graduated from college. So if the chapters take a while to come, it is because of the interference of "real life." But moving on, please do enjoy this next installment, and thanks for reading!  
**

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The breeze picked up by the time Nat was in sight of the _Dolphin_ drifting slowly downstream. Despite his stern warning before, Captain Eaton waited until his son was safely aboard before continuing. Weary from the day's ordeal, Nat showed no outward sign of exactly what had happened ashore. He was resolved to tell no one until he had regaled Hannah with every detail. Sensing this, Gabe and Caleb asked him nothing, but greeted him cheerfully.

"I thought thee would be hungry," Hannah said, "so I saved some of my bread and cheese for when thee came back."

"Hannah," Nat said with an exasperated chuckle, "we have plenty to last us until Saybrook. You needn't go hungry on my account."

"Oh, well," Hannah said, "the ship's movement does my stomach little good as it is. I can't really eat much anyway." She broke off a piece of cheese and offered it to her cat, who was curled up on the ship's swaying floor.

"I'm sorry." Used to the ship's rocking, Nat had never thought that Hannah might get queasy from it. "But it won't be long, I promise you."

Hannah waved her hand dismissively. "Enough of that. I can see in thy face, thee is bursting to tell me what happened, and I am eager to listen."

He needed no further prompting before he propelled himself into the story, how he snuck into town and overheard the gossip, how he had fetched Prudence against her parents' wills, and taken her to the trial itself. Every detail he could remember, he repeated back for Hannah, trying to give her the fullest account possible, right up to the moment he had to flee from his past sentence. Not a single emotion did he hide from her—the anger, the triumph, even the sorrow at losing his chance to say goodbye to Kit. To his astonishment, Hannah's eyes betrayed no sly understanding or satisfaction. She simply nodded, sharing both his joy and his regrets. Indeed, it was likely that _she _would never see Kit again, either, Nat realized.

"Everything will be well for her," Nat said, trying to convince Hannah, realizing he was trying to console himself, also. "She's resourceful, obviously…"

"Yes," Hannah said. "I only hope that young William will be able…able to keep that alive in her." She frowned thoughtfully. "Thee never mentioned him. Did he have no part in her defense?"

Nat stared at Hannah, shocked himself to realize that William Ashby had _not_ been at the trial. He had wondered beforehand if the man had done anything to help his fiancée, but once at the trial, his existence had completely slipped from Nat's mind. The recollection brought a strange sickening feeling to Nat's stomach, but he did not mention that part to Hannah when he told her that no, William Ashby had not been at the trial.

"Perhaps he was not in town?" Hannah said.

"I'm sure that must be it."

"Yes. He will set things right when he returns and finds out what happened." Her voice sounded choked, as though she was restraining her emotions. "When I think of what could have happened to her, I just…" She shook her head, staring down at her lap. "Thomas did what he could…Oh, thee would have loved him, Nat. Everyone who _knew _him loved him." She sighed. "If thee doesn't mind, I think I should lie down. Living on a little ship seems more exhausting than on land."

"I don't mind at all," Nat said, standing up. "I had better get back to my duties anyway. As I said, we'll be arriving in Saybrook very soon."

* * *

Every concern Nat had about Hannah vanished when they arrived at Saybrook. His grandmother accepted both Hannah and her cat wholeheartedly and immediately went to work putting a decent meal in front of them. Nat's mother was delighted to meet Hannah at last before she boarded the ship to join husband and son on their journey to the Indies. It seemed, finally, that all was well and somewhat back to normal. In his heart, Nat knew it could never really be so.

"You are both too thin," his mother observed when they were sharing the evening meal as a family on their way across the sea.

"Rest assured, my dear," Captain Eaton said, "we are perfectly well, and long may it remain so. It has been something of a difficult year." He looked directly at Nat, who suddenly lost most of his appetite.

"Oh, I cannot believe what they did to poor Hannah," Mistress Eaton groaned. "She is everything you said she is, Nat, and more. I absolutely adored her, and I think she and my mother will be wonderful company for each other."

"She was no trouble at all when we had her aboard," the captain observed. "Unlike _other_ passengers we've had in the past…"

"Are you talking about Mistress Tyler?" Mistress Eaton asked, taking on a scolding tone. "It was terrible of them to arrest her and put her on trail for doing nothing wrong. I thought she was a bit strange when she came aboard the _Dolphin_, but she is a dear girl, and it is so dreadful of them to accuse her so horrid as witchcraft. Though I understand she acted in willful disobedience."

"She did what she thought she had to," Nat spoke up, before he thought better of it. His mother only took a bite of her bread and smiled at him, in a way strangely reminiscent of the way Hannah always did.

"Surely you heard of the terrible sickness in Wethersfield," Captain Eaton said.

"Of course," his wife replied. "The news spread all the way, so many reports. I thought we'd see it in Saybrook, but thankfully there seemed to be no more illnesses than usual for the time of year. I'm glad Hannah was well when she came aboard the ship. Nat, she told me you and Mistress Tyler were quite valiant on her behalf."

Nat glanced at his father before saying, "Kit—Mistress Tyler—was the one who came and hid Hannah when she found out they were coming for her. We were simply in the right place at the right time. _She _was the hero."

"Indeed," Mistress Eaton said. "Well, I'm very proud of you, Nat, to have gone back and made sure she was all right at the trial. I did ask you to look out for her, but maybe I never had to make that request in the first place." She smiled that same smile again, and Nat felt heat rise in his face. He looked at his father, but the captain had not caught his wife's expression. Instead, he looked a little nervous, and Nat realized that he had been even quieter than usual.

They continued eating in silence for a while, until the captain cleared his throat.

"Nathaniel," he said, "I need to speak to you about something."

"Yes, Father?" Nat asked, genuinely terrified at what he was going to say.

"I'll have you know that I would not be telling you this if I were not truly proud of the way you've conducted yourself in the past several days."

Nat frowned. What was his father talking about? "Thank you," he said, unsure if that was the proper response. The captain only waved the thanks away before he continued.

"You'll recall, I am sure, that I had voiced my doubts that you were at all prepared to be master of your own trading ship in the foreseeable future."

Nat's heart sank and his shoulders drooped, despite his efforts to remain impassive. How could he have forgotten it? He remembered it frequently, and doing so never failed to create the sensation that a knife was being stuck in his gut.

Captain Eaton cleared his throat again, then glanced at his wife. "What you did not know at the time was that, last spring, in Boston, I had put a down payment on the construction of a new ketch, to be ready this coming spring as a trading vessel."

A hundred things came into Nat's head, and he did not say one. If he spoke, he was afraid the spell would be broken and his father would take back what—Nat hoped—he was about to say. Or worse, that Nat would wake up and realize that he had only dreamt it all. He held his breath instead of speaking and looked at his mother. A smile pulled at her mouth and her eyes were aglow with what he thought might be pride. Two seconds was far too long to wait for his father to continue talking.

"I had hoped that it would be _your _ship. You will have to complete the payments yourself, of course, but I was rather convinced that you were ready and deserving of the assistance. The debacle on All Hallows' Eve certainly made me think twice, and I don't believe I was mistaken in doing so. But this week you have proven yourself more than capable of many things, Nathaniel, and I remain assured that you will make a proper sea captain come spring."

At last Nat felt free to smile, to the point that his face was unable to express the full extent of his joy. "Thank you, Father!" he said, this time with gusto. He leapt from his seat and hurried around the table to shake his hand. His mother laughed as he kissed her cheek. "Thank you," he repeated.

"All right, all right, that'll be all," Captain Eaton said, smiling in spite of himself. "You realize that I am counting on you, Nat, to justify this confidence."

"Of course, Father, sir," Nat said, still standing.

"Then sit down and finish your supper."

"I'm not so sure I can eat anything now," Nat said. "This is rather too exciting."

"I hope the excitement wears off soon," the captain said wryly, "else you'll starve to death before spring and I'll have wasted all that money. It'll be months yet before you'll even see her, so I recommend you sit down and eat and concentrate on _today_."

"Yes, sir," Nat said, his mood only slightly deflated as he took his seat again.

"Of course, you'll have to think of a name for her," his mother said before taking another bite of her own food.

Thinking on that, Nat grew more serious as he chewed and swallowed with great effort. Each epithet he considered before never seemed suitable—by now, he was quite sure he already knew her name.

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	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey there, lovely readers. So, it's been … cor, blimey, more than three years? Heheh, well, I can explain. No, really. See, the two of us who collaborate on this thing used to be roommates, then we weren't, then we ended up living in separate regions of the U.S., and one of us (OK, me, the one writing this A/N) has been working on a novel for the past almost-four years, AND doing a full-time job, and moving multiple times in the past few years and has finally finished the novel. While I'm waiting for other people to edit it, so that I can publish it, I decided to revisit this fic and see if it could still be finished. So … what do you think? Glad to have it back? Or maybe you should decide this after you've read it, hmmm… Anyway, I think I'd really like to try to finish this. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than three years from now, but you never know what life will bring…**

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"Keep to the rolling-tackle there, Gabe!"

"Belay that, mate, and lend a hand here!"

"Put your backs into it, men!"

The rain poured down on them, making the deck slippery and navigation almost impossible. The wind whipped the sails that had not already been taken in and shook even the tightest ropes. The sailors stumbled around the little vessel, doing everything they could to ensure their survival through the storm. Nearly blind from the rain and soaked through his clothes, Nat could barely keep his footing. There was no way they could come out of this alive, was there? It was the worst storm the _Dolphin _and her crew had faced in anyone's memory.

They had long ceased to keep to their original course. All they could do was shorten sail and keep the ship upright while the storm raged. If they kept her afloat, only after the clouds, wind, and pelting rain had passed could they once again bother with navigation.

Several sailors had been employed to pump water; the brigantine was no longer in her prime, and was taking on more than was good for her. Captain Eaton had hoped she would withstand the voyage from the West Indies back to New England without much mishap, but such wishes had been in vain. If they did make it to Boston alive, she would have to wait much longer for repairs than originally planned.

A clap of thunder was followed by a particularly nasty gust of wind. Then came the most horrific sound yet-a deafening crack of wood, and a man's scream. Squinting against the weather, Nat turned and looked up just in time to see part of the foremast come tumbling down toward the deck.

Slipping on the flooding deck, he rushed to fling himself aside, just missing the spar as it crashed to the deck, cracking and splintering several planks. A few pieces of wood slid past him. The wind knocked out of him, Nat could not move for a moment, feeling as though the rain itself was pressing him to the floor.

He looked up to see Jedidiah hurrying toward him with another coil of rope. Just behind the sailor, Nat saw the boom, now loose and swinging around toward the man with what seemed malicious intent.

"Jed, _GET DOWN!_" Nat yelled, pushing himself up to his knees. The man was half a second too slow to react, and the boom struck him in the back, just at his shoulder blades. Jedidiah stumbled, dropping the rope, just as the ship pitched again and he was tossed overboard as if by the hand of a giant.

Once the boom passed over him, Nat scrambled toward the side, but saw nothing in the dark, rolling waves. Jedidiah was gone. Half in shock, Nat grabbed the rope, determined to find a use for it, as though to preserve his shipmate's memory. He looked around for his father, but felt a sickening realization that, like finding their position on the waters, news of Jedidiah's drowning would have to wait until the weather was calm.

* * *

It was a full half-day later that the weather calmed; fortunately, it did so without the loss of another life from the _Dolphin_. After finding a waterlogged Bible, Nat was given the task of reading over the unseen body of their fellow sailor, while the rest of the men stopped cleaning up the ship for a few minutes to recognize the gravity of the moment.

When the brig was no longer in imminent danger of sinking, and the captain had regained their bearings, they learned that the storm had not blown them too far off course. They had been pushed north, as they had wanted, but farther east than planned. If the weather stayed fine, they could reach Boston in days without much more trouble.

Despite his grief at the loss of a shipmate, and his sadness for the _Dolphin_'s extensive damage, Nat felt his pulse quicken joyfully at the prospect of reaching Boston. His new ketch would be ready for him, and after coming through such a storm, he felt more prepared than ever to strike out on his own. It was still a nerve-wracking prospect, and he had to wipe his sweating palms on his trousers whenever he thought too long about it.

At least there was something new to which he could look forward. Sometimes, in fact, Nat was grateful for troubles on board-though he would have preferred to face them without the loss of any crew members. The winter in the Indies had been beautiful and as easy as life on a ship could be. Unlike past years, however, Nat had passed the months with fitful dreams and nagging thoughts that plagued him whenever he failed to keep busy.

All winter, he could not keep her out of his mind. With his own eyes, he had been assured that Kit Tyler was safe from the accusations of witchcraft. That should have been enough to put him at ease. Unfortunately, he could not help remembering the proud, stocky young man who had looked at him so disdainfully all those months ago-the man building that extravagant house on the best land in Wethersfield-the man who, by now, may have made Kit Tyler into Katherine Ashby, and one of the town's finest residents, living in its finest house.

Nat had spent his life wanting nothing but a merchant ship to call his own. But in the past year, he learned that there was something else he had wanted just as much. It was madness, of course, to think of Kit at such a time, especially so far in the open sea, where there was no way to learn of what had happened to her over the winter, and thus it was useless to dwell on it. Information would be unlikely to come by in Boston, but in Saybrook, he might learn for sure if she was married. Then he could adjust to the news, once he was certain of it, and be ready to face Wethersfield with a clear head.

He was unprepared for the image that came to his mind-Kit's face, as clear and vivid in his memory as though he had only now looked away from her. Her features, so plain upon first acquaintance, now were a lovely memory. He recalled her wide eyes, radiant smile, and the stubborn tilt of her chin that meant she had set her mind on something and would not be moved. The knowledge that he had likely missed his last chance now haunted him until he wondered if he, too, had been bewitched.

Suddenly, in spite of himself and his morose thoughts, his usual grin broke upon his face once again. The name he had chosen for his new ship-_The Witch_-now seemed more than apt. If he found one bewitching creature beyond his reach in Connecticut, at least the new ship would be his, to carry the memory of both Hannah and the young woman who would forever be Kit Tyler to him.

* * *

A week later, Nat found himself walking along the clean, shiny new deck of his new boat. Although the ketch itself would be fully Nat's once he had paid for her, he would be sailing under his father's credentials until he had built up enough of his own business to be completely independent. The _Dolphin_, emptied of crew and cargo, would be under repairs for the rest of the spring. After the elder Captain Eaton settled his own business and sought out a new vessel of his own, he had promised to help Nat assemble a crew and arrange to take on a cargo.

"You look at home already," Gabe said, leaping aboard.

Nat could not hold back his smile as he breathed deeply the smell of fresh paint and new planks. Not one fiber of her cordage was yet frayed, and her canvas was a blinding white as it flapped in the breeze. He could not remember the _Dolphin _when she had been as new, without a chip in her paint or a barnacle on her hull. Standing aboard the new ketch, he felt a strange combination of old and young-he was his own man at last, and yet he also felt like a little boy again, learning the ropes at the feet of better sailors.

"Let's have a look below, shall we?" Gabe asked.

Nat chuckled. "We?"

"Of course, I have to know my way around this little wreck if I'm to help sail it, don't I?"

The two young men laughed as they poked around the _Witch_'s lower deck. There was not much to see; the spaces would be cramped. For a moment, Nat wondered doubtfully if it was fit for a female passenger, but he pushed the thought aside and concentrated on admiring the vessel's Bostonian craftsmanship, pointing out details to his friend. Despite his jesting remarks, Gabe clearly admired the little ketch.

"You'll do Their Majesties proud," he said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. Nat gave him a friendly punch in the arm and climbed back up to the top deck.

"And where have you decided to take this mistress of yours on her maiden voyage?" Gabe asked, following close behind.

"To Saybrook," Nat said, without a hint of humor or hesitation. "It must be Saybrook. And thence to Wethersfield."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Gabe said.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm not too proud to hide the fact that I kind of cried when I wrote this. Like, a lot.**

* * *

Nat knocked at the door, breathing a little heavily after his run from the wharf. Barely an hour ago, he and his crew had reached Saybrook with mail and other supplies from Boston. He had been bursting with excitement and could not wait to see his grandmother and Hannah Tupper, to tell them everything that had happened over the long winter.

"Nat!" Constance Ford gasped when she opened the door to see him standing there. She blinked in the April sunshine, a startling contrast to the house's dim interior. "How well you look." She eyed him up and down, taking in his new hat and captain's jacket with its glistening buttons. "Grown up at last, I see."

"Good morning, Grandmother," he said. "I've come from Boston, with my new ketch. Father-"

"Tell me nothing more until you've come in and greeted Hannah and had something to eat," Constance said abruptly, stepping back and leaving the front door open. "Every year I expect you to look better fed, considering you have been on an island _paradise_, and every year I am disappointed."

Hannah did not rise from her place at the spinning wheel, but stayed sitting in a beam of sunlight, weakened by its cast through the oil-paper window. She smiled up at Nat and greeted him warmly. He hurried over to embrace her gently, and then nodded at the yellow cat who meowed up at him. He extended a hand toward the animal, who sniffed it with suspicion before sitting back on her haunches and twitching her tail. The scene was so familiar, it hardly seemed as though they were anywhere else except the cottage in the Meadows. Yet his grandmother's house had tight boards for a floor and a much sturdier roof, for which he was grateful.

"Thee looks quite handsome, Nat," Hannah said, reaching out to feel the lapel of his jacket. "Has thy father consented to let thee sail alone?"

Nat sat down to eat the porridge his grandmother offered, still warm from their breakfast earlier. Between bites, he told the two women about the winter spent in the Indies, and enjoyed their gasps and cries when he described the horrific storm that nearly toppled the _Dolphin_. For his grand finale, he described his new ketch, the _Witch_, and the fortune and independence he hoped she would bring him.

"Father stayed in Boston," he explained, "while the _Dolphin _is hove for repairs and he decides what to do next. I offered to bring my mother to Saybrook, but she thought it best to remain with him."

"But she _will _come home eventually, will she not?" Constance asked, anxious as she was every year to have her daughter close by again.

"Of course," Nat said. "She cannot stay away too long-who knows what mischief the two of you will get up to this summer?"

When their chuckles had subsided, his grandmother said, "You did very well, Nat, to bring Hannah under my roof. We were very good company for each other, making the winter evenings pass easier, and the house warmer. I have never known a woman who could spin a finer thread-and we have not seen a mouse alive since that cat set foot in this house!"

Nat took another glance at the cat, and saw what Constance meant. Rather than grow lean in the colder months, the feline had become fat and content, a guard against vermin.

"This is your turn now," he said to the women. "I have told you all that has happened to me these last months, but what news have you?" He hesitated, unwilling to ask directly about Kit and yet eager for information about her more than anything else. "Any chance that something exciting happened in Connecticut this winter?"

There seemed to be a twinkle in Hannah's fading eyes, but she did not speak.

His grandmother's expression was curiously blank as she said, "Not a thing. Nothing at all has happened all winter. Or this spring, thus far."

"Thee should not say such things, Constance," Hannah said. "The Wood sisters are to be married soon, up in Wethersfield, the both of them."

"Ah, yes," Constance said. "And Ruth Marris married James Gonson only last week in the church here."

"The Wood sisters?" Nat ventured to repeat. "Kit's cousins? Matthew Wood's daughters?"

"We have heard so," Hannah said. "Thee was acquainted with them, Nat, yes?"

"I met them once or twice," Nat said. "I hope they will be very happy."

Constance took away the now-empty porridge bowl. "Hannah told me of your gallant acts toward her and Katherine Tyler, and what good friends you have been to her. I am proud that my grandson is as kindhearted as he is handsome. Of course, I never had my doubts on that score…"

"Have you heard anything from K…Mistress Tyler?" Nat asked Hannah. "Though perhaps by now I ought to refer to her as Mistress Ashby."

"I do not know about that," Hannah said. "If Kit is married, we have not heard of it. She will be the only young woman left in that household, if her cousins will be married soon, or have already."

"I wonder how she lasted her first New England winter," Nat mused, attempting to inject some humor into his tone.

The twinkle in Hannah's eyes faded as she said, "I cannot imagine that it was easy for her. After all she told me of her grandfather's plantation, and what thee has told me of the West Indies, the cold and the snow must have pained her very much. Nat, please give her my greetings when thy ketch reaches Wethersfield. I would so like to hear how she fares."

"Of course," he said. "That is, if I see her. I do not think we will have much time at the wharf, but if I do see her, I…I shall greet her for you."

They lapsed into silence; the only sounds in the house were of Constance busying herself with the breakfast bowls and mugs. Nat stared at a blank stretch of wall, his mind several miles ahead of him, up the river in Wethersfield. Hannah watched him quietly, with a knowing expression that would have embarrassed him if he could see it. Nat did not emerge from his reverie until the corner of his eye caught the motion of his grandmother sitting down again, this time with her hands full of sewing.

"Nat…" Hannah said softly. When he turned toward her, she said, "I am quite sure that Kit has not married William Ashby."

The remark struck him harder than he would have expected. He had to swallow back before raising his eyebrows in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Is that so?"

"It is," she said. "She did not love him. I do not believe Kit would go through with a marriage to a man she did not love."

Hannah's words were a torment that Nat knew she had not intended. He could feel the cracks that were forming in his facade of cheerful indifference. Feeling slightly unsteady, he stood up with an obligatory glance toward the open door.

"If you would forgive me, ladies, I think it is time I return to the docks. They will be wondering where the captain disappeared to." He gave them both a kiss on their cheeks before adding, "I shall…pass on your greetings, Hannah. And see you both when we return to Saybrook. Good day to you!"

Once outside of the house, he took a shuddering breath to compose himself before continuing on his way. Each step he took on the road back to the wharf felt like a hammer's blow to his head, and in spite of the beautiful April weather, his hands felt suddenly icy. He silently scolded himself for nearly losing his composure, hoping his face would betray none of it by the time he returned to the _Witch_. Gabe would be sure to ask him about it.

Nat was not entirely sure what to make of the visit; Hannah was not one to engage in idle conversation. He knew she must have had a reason for telling him that Kit was unmarried-as far as she knew, that is. Of course, it was ridiculous to believe that Hannah had not guessed his feelings for Kit. Someone with Hannah's heart would have seen, even with her feeble eyes, how he had grown to care for the young woman. It had been happening gradually, and he could not have pinpointed when he was fully aware of it, but Hannah knew. Of course she knew.

Then another thought occurred to him: Hannah would not encourage him, however subtly, if she believed it was not worthwhile. He repeated her words in his own head-that Kit was most likely unmarried, that she had not loved William Ashby, that she would not marry a man she did not love. Did Hannah mean to tell Nat that he had a chance after all? He had spent all these months burying himself in his work and his dreams of his own vessel, just to avoid thinking of Kit Tyler. The efforts had been worthless; in spite of tropical surroundings, the storms, and loading up the new boat, she was all he could think about.

A sickening feeling sank Nat's stomach; Hannah was old, and often believed her husband was still alive and with her. What if she had been confused about Kit's situation? Perhaps he would find a Mistress Katherine Ashby in Wethersfield, after all.

The docks and the _Witch _finally in sight, Nat clenched his jaw, as though steeling himself for a blow. He knew then that only one thing would satisfy him, once and for all. When the crew reached Wethersfield, he would march through town to the Woods' front door, and find out for himself. If Mistress Ashby had set up housekeeping behind those expensive windows, he would wish her well.

If it was Kit Tyler he found, he would propose marriage and offer her everything he had in the world.

* * *

Something changed in the air. From his place near the bow, Nat twisted around to look up at the bright white sails of his ketch. The canvas, waving in the breeze, had fallen limp, and the boat creaked and swayed in the water, as though taunting him with her slackened pace. Turning his gaze back to the Connecticut River Nat grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

It was the same as every summer, of course, with the unpredictable winds and days without movement. This time, however, it was almost beyond Nat's endurance. Perhaps he had hoped that a vessel named the _Witch_ could have cast a spell upon the winds and hasten their approach to Wethersfield. Superstitious nonsense, of course, but that reality did not assuage Nat's frustration, or calm his fears that they might be too late.

Sighing in annoyance, Nat left his post to see where else he might be needed.

An hour later, with no change in the weather, Gabe approached him to ask, "Should we walk 'er up the river, Captain?"

Nat glanced up at the lifeless sails, but shook his head. "If it stays this way for a few days, perhaps, but I can't see much use of it. She's smaller than the _Dolphin_, and will catch the wind more easily."

"Not if there's no wind to catch," Gabe said.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Gabe."

"Only trying to help," the sailor said, grinning before he loped away to help one of his mates with some tricky rope.

The wind picked up again that evening, but was lost again before the morning. The pattern continued every few hours for a week, bringing Nat to what he feared was the brink of madness. He tried to keep his temper in check, knowing that the crew would realize that something was wrong. In years past, he was used to the slow voyages up and down the Connecticut River, and had rarely let it bother him. Any impatience now would be noticed and questioned by his comrades.

He would not mind so much, he realized, if only he knew what awaited him in Wethersfield.

As though she knew her captain could bear no more teasing, the _Witch_ finally caught a steady breeze for the last two miles and brought them to the landing at Wethersfield. It was still early in the morning, with few people about. Those who were in sight, however, quickly gathered around the vessel, eager for news and supplies from beyond their town's borders. Nat hung back, staying aboard, but it seemed that no one recognized him as one of the men who had been banished from the town. Or if they did, their excitement over the _Witch_'s cargo had overcome any desire for retribution. Even Gabe, noticeable in any crowd, had leapt to solid ground and begun to stack crates as though there was no sentence upon his fiery red head.

Nat looked into the distance, but the few people who approached them were unfamiliar. Finally he forced his mind to the tasks at hand and set foot upon the shore. He glanced up once more before deliberately turning away from the road to concentrate on the barrels of molasses being unloaded. Until his duties of trade were fulfilled, he could not entertain any thoughts of romance.

"Not all of them, Tom," he said. "There was an order from Charlestown, remember?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Tom said, handing one of them back to a seaman still on board.

Nat frowned, concentrating on counting the barrels and trying to ignore the offers being shouted at him by a couple of merchants standing nearby.

"Nat!" another voice called from somewhere behind him.

He froze, every muscle in his body tensing, unwilling to turn around and find that he was mistaken. But he could not be mistaken. In the one moment he had not been thinking of Kit, how could his mind have conjured up the sound of her voice?

Turning around, he saw that he was not mistaken. Kit Tyler broke into a run, wearing a smile that illuminated her face and told him everything he wanted to know.

Sprinting to meet her, he embraced her before realizing he was doing it. When he let her go, he clasped her hands, afraid she would disappear again if he released her completely.

"Kit," he murmured, taking in the sight of her, so close, her face bright and open, with no sign of any regrets or sorrows. "Is it Kit Tyler, still? Or am I addressing Mistress Ashby?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "No, Nat. My cousin Judith is Mistress Ashby. Or, she will be, in a few days."

"I heard…I heard your cousins were to be married, but there was no word of you."

Kit glanced around nervously. Nat saw that there were more villagers gathering near the landing, and he released her from his grasp.

"I am glad to see you," he said.

"And I, you," she replied. She had tried to recover herself, but it was too late. He had seen into her heart, and found all he had hoped for. His mind was too full, and there was too much for him to say. He hardly knew where to begin.

"We…" He swallowed. "We almost didn't make it. We sailed to Boston first, and there was a horrific storm. My father is still there, I think, and…"

"And Hannah?" Kit asked.

He grinned. Here was familiar, easy territory. "Better than I've seen her in years. She and Gran have been wonderful company. They both seem younger and…and Hannah sends her greetings."

"I'm so pleased," Kit said. She looked past him toward the new vessel, wholly unfamiliar to her. "What happened to the _Dolphin_?"

"In Boston for repairs, but she'll pull through, I think." He followed her gaze to the _Witch_, and felt that surge of pride he had felt when he stepped aboard for the first time. But there was a shadow of uneasiness, too, and he found himself worried about what Kit would say. Whatever he felt for her now, he still had not forgotten the disdain with which she had spoken of the _Dolphin _on her voyage from Barbados. "What do you think of this new ketch?"

"I think she's beautiful," Kit said. She looked back at him, as though seeing him for the first time, and he saw the comprehension spread over her face. Her eyes lit up as she grinned again. "Are you…Nat, is she _yours?_"

"After a good summer, and I repay my father. Then, yes, every last cable and nail."

"Oh, Nat," Kit sighed. "She's even prettier than the _Dolphin_."

He chuckled. Placing a hand at her elbow, he led her closer to the dock. "Come see what I've christened her." He laughed when she gasped, vexed.

"Nat Eaton! How did you dare? _What _did Hannah say?"

"I don't remember if I told her," he said. "She's not named after Hannah, anyway. We got Hannah settled in after her great escape, and I realized she was not the only one to cast a spell on me." He grinned to see Kit's pleasure through her discomfort, even as she did not meet his eyes, but kept her gaze on the ketch.

"Can I go aboard?" she asked. "Won't you let me see her?"

He took her hand again. "Not yet, Kit," he said. She returned his grasp, and he knew that she would become all his even sooner than the _Witch_. "I would like to speak to your uncle first. If there _is _something I may speak to him about."

She looked at him then. "There is, Nat," she said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Most certainly."

He allowed himself another deep breath before the words tumbled out of him, giving voice to the ideas and hopes that he dared not allow himself, but which the Caribbean sunshine could not chase away.

"Will the new ketch be enough for him to consent? You'll have your house someday, Kit. I can't promise diamond-paned glass windows, or a gambrel roof, but I swear you'll have a place in Saybrook, or here in Wethersfield if you prefer. I thought it over, constantly, but I couldn't dare to hope, not knowing what I'd find here in the spring. But come winter, this November, I'll take you to the Indies, and then in the summertime-"

"-Hannah and I will keep a garden," Kit finished for him, her voice breaking with emotion.

His shoulders slumped with relief. "I hadn't meant to discuss it all here. I was going to come to the house and knock on the front door, all proper, above-board, and all that."

Kit laughed, but she said nothing.

"Will you not invite me back?" he asked, feeling his own good humor returning.

"Of course," she said, "but I want to see the ketch first, Nat, please?"

"Not a chance," he said, steering her away and leading her to the road toward her house. "The _Witch _has been holding back since we began sailing up the river, keeping me from you. She's as stubborn as you are. Now I'm going to make you both wait, until I bring you aboard for good."

Kit only responded with another laugh, stopping their pace to bring her arms around him again. They stayed that way for a moment, until Nat realized there was one thing for which he no longer had the strength to wait. Placing one hand against her cheek, he leaned down and kissed her.

She felt like home.

* * *

THE. END.


End file.
